Love Triumphant
by Vadergirl52
Summary: Christine flees Paris for New York in an effort to escape her feelings. Madame Giry and Meg accompany her as she begins her life over. But has she truly escaped the emotional bonds of her former angel? I stink at summaries. I also have become obsessed with "Love Never Dies" and wanted to "fix" it, so this is my take on the events right after "The Phantom of the Opera". M for later.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

 **Two months after the final events of** _ **The Phantom of the Opera**_

"Only two more weeks, my Darling! I can hardly wait to make you my wife," Raoul, the Vicomte de Chagny lovingly said as he walked his fiancee, Christine Daae, to the door of the small home she was staying in. "No more good-byes, no more lonely nights spent in a large house all to myself, and soon...children to enjoy! I cannot wait to start our lives together!"

Christine smiled distractedly. "Children?"

"Of course, Darling! We can have three, five, ten! I love children and you'll make the perfect mother!" Raoul smiled winningly.

Christine frowned. "But when the opera opens again, I want to sing. I can't be both mother and performer, I-"

"Of _course_ you can't be both! Your career is over. There's no need for you to perform in public any more. As the Vicomtesse de Chagny, you will have too many duties to deal with, not to mention our children," Raoul answered, oblivious to Christine's growing concern.

"But-," she began.

"Not now, Christine. Don't worry. We'll talk about all of this later, You'll see. You'll be so busy you won't even have time to hum. The society circles we'll be in are much too high for public singing anyhow."

"Raoul, we need to talk about all of this," Christine began, but he placed a quieting finger to her lips.

"Later, my love. I need to return home and pack for my journey to Bourges tomorrow. I'll only be gone a week, but it will feel like an eternity until I come back to you. I love you, Christine," he said leaning in and kissing her. He pulled away, smiling and returned to his waiting carriage. He waved at her as he pulled away down the street.

Christine hadn't moved from her spot on Madame Giry's doorstep. There were far too many things racing through her mind: no more singing, children, his kiss. As the day to their wedding drew closer, Christine was feeling more and more uneasy. Her thoughts had already been in a confusing tumble that was distracting her more and more each day, but what he'd said tonight had sent her completely into a whirlwind.

The door behind her opened and her best friend appeared. "Christine? Are you coming in or did the Vicomte's kiss leave you swooning?" Meg Giry giggled. "Mother told me not to peek, but I couldn't help it. It's all so romantic!"

Christine turned to enter the house and Meg's bright smile immediately faded. "Christine, what's wrong?"

Madame Sabine Giry looked up from her book and, seeing Christine's expression, took her glasses off and set the book to the side. "Meg, make us some tea, please. Christine, come. Sit down."

As Meg scurried to do her mother's bidding, Christine removed her light wrap and sat as asked. "He doesn't want me to sing."

Meg popped her head back in at that. "Raoul? But what about the opera?"

Madame Giry shot her daughter a look and then turned back to Christine. "I was afraid of this. Let me guess...his social level doesn't leave room for a wife who pursues her own career?"

Christine nodded. "It's more than that. He wants children: _many_ children. I suppose I should have anticipated that but now that he's said it, I'm realizing that would end my career no matter what. I've never wanted children; I suppose because my mother died when I was so young...I don't know. All I know is he wants me to bear his children and play the role of a silent Vicomtesse. I can't. I can't give up my music! Not after what I've learned...what I've gone through. It's the only thing that I have of...of…" Christine trailed off, but Sabine knew what she wanted to say.

Meg came in with a tray filled with tea things and arranged everyone's cups as her mother took Christine's hand.

"Christine, you know you are as much a daughter to me as Meg. I don't want to see you so distraught. I'm going to say some things that may be difficult for you to hear, but I would be no true mother if I didn't tell you." Here she paused, looking for understanding from her adopted daughter. When Christine nodded, she continued.

"You are so young. Love is a curious thing that often goes unrecognized. The Vicomte is dashing, handsome, exuberant. He would sweep any woman off her feet. It's no wonder you found yourself caught up in a whirlwind with him. Now that things have settled, do you still feel swept away in your emotions?"

Christine looked down at her hands. "I love Raoul. He's a good man. He's caring and considerate; he loves me."

Madame Giry spoke quietly. "Christine, you could be describing your father. When do you feel passion?"

Christine opened her mouth to speak, but stopped. "I'm not sure I know what passion feels like."

Sabine shook her head sadly. "Then, my Love, you do not have that with the Vicomte. Without passion, you cannot truly know romantic love. Take it from someone who knows; love you misunderstand is love you'll regret."

Meg cleared her throat. "Christine, I don't know a lot about this either but what did you feel when you kissed him tonight?"

Christine frowned. "Feel? I don't know that I 'felt' anything. Why?"

Meg and her mother exchanged looks. "When I kissed Etienne a while back, it felt amazing! My stomach jumped all around, my heart pounded, and my head spun. Just thinking about that kiss makes me feel the same! _That's_ passion, Christine!"

"Which is precisely why I told you to stay away from him," Sabine interjected, scowling at her daughter. "He has that effect on _all_ of the girls he kisses...and there are many!"

Christine was stunned. She had only felt that way once in her life and it was not with Raoul. Those very feelings Meg had described were what had shaken her to her core and terrified her. What was worse, she often felt that way merely in the presence of her once angel. She touched her lips, remembering how intensely she had felt every moment of the kiss they had shared that fateful night nearly two months ago. Even now, her stomach behaved as Meg described, but it was accompanied by a similar twinge deeper within her body and she swallowed hard.

Sabine did not miss what transpired and she spoke once more. "Christine, you've never had a chance to live your own life. You lived for your father, then your angel took you under his wing, and now the Vicomte has laid claim to you. You need time to discover who you are, free of any male influence."

Christine's eyes shot up and hope battled in her. "But how? I can't face Raoul and he will never take no for an answer. How do I start over?"

"I have a brother who lives in America. We could go...the three of us. I have money saved and you could both audition for theater there. There are so many theaters and Laurent is a musician at their great opera house. You could both get something."

Meg clapped in excitement. "America, Christine! Just think of it! It would be a fresh start and no one would know anything about what happened here!"

"But Raoul will be back in a week. How long will it take?" Christine asked hesitantly.

"We can leave for Calais tonight and be on a ship to America tomorrow. The crossing is only a few days. It would be more than enough time to be settled in New York before Raoul returned," Sabine replied. "We would only pack some clothes. There's nothing here I am overly attached to that I cannot either take with or replace."

Meg looked expectantly at Christine. The chance to run away and start over...escape the pressure of her fiance and the ghost of the one person she could not stop thinking about…

"I'll go pack, "she replied.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Raoul had come back to Paris two days later than anticipated and, before going home, went straight to Christine's door. He was eager to see her and had brought her the gift of a red scarf as a reminder of their youth. What he had not expected was a "To Let" sign posted on the door.

He peered into the window and saw two men working inside to fix a door that had fallen off its hinge. He felt his anxiety building as he hammered on the door with his fist. One of the workers came to the door, looking ready to chew him out until he realized Raoul was higher class. "Yes, Sir?"

Raoul looked past him into the home. "Where are Madame Giry and her daughter?"

The worker shrugged. "I don't know. My boss told me to come over and fix the place up because his tenants had left. I didn't ask and he didn't tell me."

"But my fiancee was with them! She would have told me!" Raoul stammered.

"Hey, your name wouldn't happen to be Raoul, would it?" The worker asked.

"Yes! Why?"

The worker stepped back into the room and produced an envelope with his name on it. "I suppose someone expected you to show up. Here."

Raoul took the envelope and hastily opened it. He pulled out a letter and Christine's engagement ring tumbled out. The worker picked it up and handed it to Raoul. "Well, I suppose you don't have a fiancee any more." He laughed and went back to work, wishing he'd thought to check the envelope before giving it to Raoul.

Unfolding the letter, he skimmed it and then angrily crumpled it. He didn't believe it for a minute and turned quickly back to his carriage. "Henri, take me to the Opera Populaire...the back of it." As the carriage pulled away, Raoul pulled a small box out from under his seat and removed a revolver, which he loaded and placed inside his jacket.

* * *

It was not easy, finding his way back down to the fiend's lair. He came across many sprung traps and exposed pitfalls that he gingerly stepped around. Twice he turned the wrong way but finally he was at the edge of the underground lake that he had swum across once before. He was convinced he'd find Christine in the clutches of that hideous monster and this time he planned to make a final end of the madness. He made it quietly to the other shore and carefully went forward towards the small house. He cautiously pushed the door open and stepped into a complete disaster. The angry mob had taken their fear and aggression out on the belongings of the demon since they had been unable to find the creature himself. Lamps lay shattered on the torn carpets, books were torn in half and flung everywhere, his piano lay in pieces, and, in the center of it all, was the freak himself, sitting on the floor against the wall, thumbing through ripped music.

"Where is she, you bastard?!" Raoul seethed angrily.

The Phantom of the Opera...Erik...looked up at the sound of his enemy's voice. "What a surprise finding you here, Vicomte. I thought you'd be too busy with your new bride to spare me a thought and yet, you're here."

Raoul pulled his revolver out and aimed it at Erik's head. "Where is she?!"

Erik looked singularly unphased by the loaded gun pointed at him. "Oh please, Monsieur. _Do_ pull the trigger. I would welcome an end to this miserable existence."

Raoul swore and took a quick walk around the house. When he returned, Erik was still sitting in the same place. "What do you want? If you're not going to kill me, I'd prefer to be left alone."

Raoul put his gun away. "You mean to tell me you have nothing to do with this?!" He tossed the crumpled letter from Christine at Erik, who opened it up to read:

 _My Dearest Raoul,_

 _I'm sorry I cannot be what you want me to be: a wife, mother, and Vicomtesse. To do those things, you want me to give up music and that is something I can never do._

 _I don't expect you to understand how music is in my pulse and singing through my veins. I don't understand it myself. But ever since this was awakened in me, I know I cannot give it up. It would be like asking me to give up my soul._

 _You're a good man who deserves a woman who wants to be a mother to all the children you want. Though that woman isn't me, I know you'll find her someday._

 _Yours in Regret,_

 _Christine_

For the first time in a very long time, Erik smiled. "You're only learning now the lesson I had to. Christine has her own will buried deep down and you cannot bend it to your whim."

"I have never forced her to bend to anything, unlike you!" Raoul retorted. "I will find her and make her see reason. At least she is free of your influence. The way she spoke about music being awakened in her, I thought you'd gotten back into her head. Now I see I should never have allowed her to stay with that woman."

Erik frowned. "What woman?"

As Raoul made his way to the door to leave, he replied, "Madame Giry. I'm sure she and her daughter have managed to put some foolish nonsense in her head and that's why they're all gone."

Erik feigned disinterest. "I wish you luck in your search, Monsieur Vicomte. Wherever Christine may be, you will have little hope of convincing her to leave her one, true love: music."

Raoul scoffed and left the small house.

When he could hear his footfalls no more, Erik stood up and looked again at the note written in Christine's elegant hand.

" _I don't expect you to understand how music is in my pulse and singing through my veins. Ever since this was awakened in me, I know I cannot give it up._ _It would be like asking me to give up my soul._ " Erik read her words aloud and then clutched the letter to his chest. For the first time, he allowed the small seed of hope he carried within him to take root. "She _does_ understand! She _can_ be mine," he whispered. The idiot Vicomte had not been what she needed or, ultimately, what she had wanted. She chose music over him and Erik knew that he was the only man who could take the passion that lived in both of their souls and build it into something that only they could understand. That she had left with Madame Giry and her daughter told Erik something the Vicomte didn't know. Erik knew, without a doubt, where they were and soon, he would be there as well, with no Vicomte in his way.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

It had been two weeks since Sabine's brother Laurent had met the three women at the port and welcomed them into his home. Their arrival was in perfect time to get a flat of their own in his building and to make auditions for the relatively young Metropolitan Opera's production of _Faust_. Laurent's position as lead oboist gained Meg and Christine a chance to audition and they were immediately snatched up into the ballet and chorus respectively. Had they arrived just a few days earlier, Christine may have landed the lead role of Marguerite. As it was, Marie van Cauteren had landed the role and Christine was cast as her understudy. She was content, however, because for the first time, she was without her teacher and she was nervous.

Rehearsals for the day had just ended and Christine was chatting amiably with Marie when Meg finally appeared.

"Did you see the new stagehand, Arthur? He's positively a dream!" Meg gushed.

Marie laughed. "Christine, you better keep your eye on her! American boys are notorious flirts!" With that, Marie excused herself and Meg flopped down on the stage to take her ballet shoes off.

"She's so nice! What a difference from that old sow, Carlotta! And she can actually sing, too. I'm so glad you two get along. That must be such a relief for you, Christine. I know the girls in the ballet are all really nice here. Mother has been helping Miss Viola with choreography and while she's still strict, even _she's_ getting nicer! I love New York! It's so much less stuffy than Paris." Here Meg took a breath and then laughed. "I'm sorry to talk so much! I'm just so much happier than I've ever been. But what about you, Christine? Are you happy?"

Christine looked down at her hands as she answered, "I'm happier than I was."

"But not happy?" Meg asked quietly.

"I don't know, Meg. I feel as if something is missing. I feel...alone."

"Do you miss Raoul?" Meg asked, frowning.

Christine looked up at that. "No. And I actually feel a little guilty about that."

Meg's frown deepened. "So if you don't miss him but feel alone, you must be missing _someone_. Maybe you're still thinking about your father?"

As Meg spoke, Christine's thoughts were drawn back to Paris and how, shortly after she had arrived at the opera, she never genuinely felt alone: as if there had always been a presence with her. It wasn't until only a year ago that she had discovered it was her "angel" watching over her all that time. In the few months' turmoil that had transpired with the arrival of Raoul, she had been terrified of that constant presence, feeling as though she couldn't escape and was trapped. But it hadn't always felt like that. And that, she realized, was why she felt so alone. She missed that first presence: the one he had been before the jealousy. She missed _him_. And that shook her to her core.

"Christine? Where are you? I've been talking for two minutes straight and you haven't heard a word I've said!" Meg complained.

She shook her head as if awakening from a dream. "I'm sorry, Meg. What did you say?"

Meg sighed. "I _said_ a bunch of the girls are going dancing tonight. Why don't we go? It would be fun and maybe we'll meet someone that will help with you feeling so alone!" She giggled.

"No, Meg. You go ahead. I really just want some time to myself, if you don't mind."

"You feel alone but want time to yourself? You're not reading more of Mr. Poe's writing again, are you? That's probably not a good thing to be reading right now!" Meg scolded.

Christine laughed. "No, but that's actually a wonderful idea! I do love his poetry. Maybe I'll take my book and sit in the park to read."

Meg rolled her eyes and let out an enormous sigh. "Always so darkly romantic with you! You and he would have made a good pair if you'd only been born sooner!" Meg leaned over and gave Christine a quick kiss on the cheek and then scurried away to meet her friends.

Christine stood up and gathered her things into her bag. As she left the opera house and made her short way to the park, Christine felt a bit more at ease. She had been unhappy in Paris after moving from the countryside because she loved trees and plants...all of nature. Paris had very little in the way of parks and none were close to the opera where she spent most of her time. New York's Central Park was amazing...so much of nature right in the middle of the city and so close to her! It felt as though it was her backyard and she went there as often as she could. Today she opted to walk a little farther north so she could sit near one of the lakes in the park. The early summer evenings lasted almost until nine o'clock and she could spend the next two hours in her favorite spot under a beautiful willow tree.

She made herself comfortable and retrieved her book of poetry and opened it to the poem, "Alone" and re-read it for the tenth time, its words speaking volumes to her. Two lines, in particular, always drew her attention: "From childhood's hour I have not been as others were-and all I loved, I loved alone." She had at first felt how the lines seemed to speak of her, but more recently, she began to think of how truly they spoke of _him_. She thought of him then, allowing herself the luxury of not feeling guilty or scared to do so. Poe's poetry had opened her eyes..her mind...to how powerful passion and love could be. Madame Giry had started her journey of self-discovery and this book had cemented it. She had once had within her grasp a passion so rare that few had ever truly known what it was like to experience those feelings. It had terrified her because she'd had no idea what it was. She'd acted like a child and instead of following her heart, she had listened to what society said. Raoul was young, handsome, titled, and wealthy. _He_ was older, disfigured, and hiding underground. What would any young woman do? Christine had been immature and felt that she was more grounded now. She was beginning to realize what she'd had and hated herself for how she'd so totally destroyed his trust...his heart. She doubted he could ever forgive her and she wasn't sure she could fully forgive herself. And who could she confide in? Surely Madame Giry would be upset and Meg would never understand...not when Raoul was so handsome in comparison.

She sighed and turned to some more poetry, marking another one that spoke to her: "Annabel Lee". "We loved with a love that was more than love," Christine read aloud quietly. She felt her throat tighten and tears begin to form. "You did love me like that...I just didn't understand; I didn't know…" Here she trailed off. Taking a deep breath, she closed her book and stood up, brushing her skirts off. It was getting late and she knew how Madame Giry worried about her. As she turned to go, she noticed two young lovers holding hands and sharing a kiss just off the path in front of her and she wondered if they felt the way she had the night of _his_ kiss.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

The passage from Calais to New York was relatively uneventful for Erik, who stayed in his cabin for most of the journey, only venturing out late at night. Money was an amazing thing that helped him buy the discretion of a porter who saw to his needs without question. Not only did the young man take care of everything Erik needed, he also offered to connect him with his cousin in New York who would be able to help secure him lodging not far from the new Metropolitan Opera House with equal discretion.

Upon arrival at Ellis Island, Erik was afforded an easy and quick run through customs due to his first-class passenger status. There was no hiding his appearance, but the officer asking the standard questions didn't so much as bat an eye at his mask. As a matter of fact, he provided Erik with the perfect excuse. After getting his initial information, he said, "Reason for visit? I'm assuming medical?"

Erik blinked for a moment but quickly recovered, answering, "Yes."

The man nodded in sympathy. "All right, Sir. You're good to go. Welcome to America." And just like that, Erik entered the country.

As he exited the doors, the porter who had taken care of him aboard the ship met him with another gentleman dressed finely all in black. "Monsieur Leroux, as promised, here is my cousin, Patrick. He specializes in helping upper class folks like yourself get situated here."

Erik sized up the man before him. Small in stature, Patrick nevertheless had an air about him that could best be described as assured. The man bowed his head to Erik.

"Good afternoon, Sir. If you will permit me, I can take your luggage and we can be on our way. Mickey tells me you're interested in staying close to the opera house. I think the Phillips Club might suit your needs: very private and discreet due to their clientele."

Erik nodded, "I will certainly take your suggestions into consideration. Thank you. Perhaps you also know of some craftsmen I can utilize. I will need a tailor and some other services such as a banker and a shop where I can purchase toiletries and such."

Patrick collected Erik's trunk and bag and led him to his carriage. "I can indeed, Sir. If you don't mind answering a few questions on the way to the club, I'll be able to better see that your requirements are met. Right this way."

True to his word, Patrick was able to set Erik up with all he could think of for the time being. By the time it was getting dark, he'd procured a small yet lavish suite at the Club, set up banking procedures with a personal representative from Brown Brothers Bank, and had been visited by a tailor who had only the finest materials available when he measured Erik for new clothing. He also promised a visit from a cobbler the next day.

Patrick was so good at what he did that Erik, impressed with his knowledge and ability, requested his continued help on a weekly basis. The Phillip's Club provided him with a personal valet he could call on at any time who, like Patrick, was a discreet and utmost professional. What struck Erik the most was everyone's complete lack of reaction to his mask. It was almost unnerving. Having spent so much of his life accustomed to facing shock, fear, and automatic hatred, dealing with so many people who seemed nominally interested at most, was a welcomed relief. Yes, a few people had looked twice, but he was never met with any whispers or jeers. After three days of such behavior, he finally broke his silence and asked his valet, Arthur, about the odd situation.

"Monsieur Leroux, I don't know what Parisiennes think is acceptable behavior, but I assure you that higher class Americans do not base a man's merits on his appearance. There are many war heroes who have suffered devastating wounds that have left them missing an arm or a leg or have left them disfigured such as yourself. We appreciate their service and fortitude. Most will assume you were injured in war. Even though that may not be the case, you are in a far higher social circle now. Here in America, we don't have counts and dukes and such. Here, your financial status is what opens doors first. Other things like professions and artistic interests will move you further along."

Erik had been astounded. He was still trying to wrap his thoughts around his new situation one night when, as he came back into the lobby from a walk around the neighborhood, he saw a cleaning woman exit a room to one side. He hadn't noticed the door before and, as he went to the front desk to retrieve any messages from the tailor or banker, he asked the older gentleman behind the desk about it.

"Oh. That's the small music room for our patrons. Generally the wives like to avail themselves of the piano in there, but you are more than welcomed to do so as well."

Erik needed no further urging. It had been weeks since he'd played and now, for the first time, he felt the need to do so. He cautiously opened the door but due to the late hour, no one was there. The large, highly polished, obsidian piano sat in the corner of the room by the window. Erik sat down and raised the cover to expose shining ivory keys. He lightly caressed the keys without making a sound and then, wondering how well-tuned they kept it, played a quick arpeggio up and back down. The notes of the Steinway rose and fell gloriously and Erik sighed in relief before losing himself in music that poured from his soul through his hands and into the magnificent instrument.

He had lost track of the time when, as he finished a particularly painful strain, he heard a small gasp behind him. Engrossed in his music, he had not detected the opening and closing of the door that heralded the woman's entrance. He turned his left side to her in an effort to hide his mask and saw her sitting in an oversized chair.

"I beg your pardon, Madam. I was unaware of your presence." He tried to be polite, but he was annoyed at the intrusion: more so that it had gone so long unnoticed.

"Please, Sir. It is I who should be asking your pardon. I heard the music and only wanted to listen at the door but...my God! I swear I felt under a spell and found myself coming in and sitting down. I don't know what came over me! I am never so rude!" Here, the woman stood up, smoothing her skirts, and came across the very dark room to Erik. She wiped tears that were still flowing freely down her face and then wiped her hands on her skirt. "I never seem to have a handkerchief! My husband would be appalled at my lack of manners." She stuck her hand out to Erik. "My name is Sarah: Sarah Brokaw."

Erik hesitated and then took her hand and lightly brushed his lips awkwardly to it, his mask making it difficult. She didn't seem to mind and instead, kept hold of his hand. "Your music...it _was_ yours, I'm sure...was so...so...soul wrenching. I've never felt so much emotion from a composition before. I literally felt like my heart was breaking. Your music, Sir, is nothing short of breathtaking. Please, do tell me your name!"

He was an extremely private man for obvious reasons and felt awkward receiving praise. "My name is Erik...Erik Leroux." The name came off his tongue awkwardly. He was so unused to formal introductions.

"You're new here. I've never seen you and my husband and I have kept accommodations here for the last two years," Sarah remarked. "Are you also new to New York?"

"I am new to your country. I've lately arrived from Paris and will have to ask your forgiveness as I am not yet familiar with the customs of America. I'll admit, I find myself at a bit of a loss."

"My dear Monsieur Leroux, this is a most fortuitous meeting then! I can assure you that my husband and I can help introduce you to the right people here in New York! But, as it is late and I'm sure Robert is wondering where on Earth I've disappeared to, I will take my leave. I promise you, though, to find you later this week. There's a private get together later and I think you will be very happy making our friends' acquaintances."

Erik nodded uneasily, but was encouraged by this open woman who seemed so unphased by his appearance. "I will look forward to it."

The moment she left the room, Erik felt the tension leave his body. He was so unaccustomed to carrying on any kind of extended conversation with people. But, he also felt oddly exhilarated that not only had yet another person seemed unphased by his mask, it had been a woman. And she had understood his music. He was astonished and, for the first time ever, hopeful.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Erik's invitation to a small social gathering arrived two days later. Overcoming extreme trepidation, he entered the private dining room on the first floor next to the music parlor where he'd first met Mrs. Brokaw. As was his habit, he entered silently and stayed to the shadows as much as he could, but within a few moments the hostess had spotted him and skillfully steered her husband away from the gentlemen he was speaking to and brought him to Erik.

"Monsieur Leroux! I'm so pleased you came! May I introduce you to my husband, Robert," Sarah exclaimed, smiling and holding her hand out to Erik.

As before, he awkwardly brushed his lips to her hand and then turned to her husband. There were heavy scars on the man's neck and Erik covered his surprise quickly by extending his hand to the man in front of him.

"Monsieur Leroux, it's indeed a pleasure to meet you. My wife has not stopped talking about your skills as a musician in these last two days. I must confess, I am a tad jealous," the gentleman smiled warmly as he firmly shook hands.

Erik rediscovered his voice at that. "The pleasure is mine, Sir, I assure you. Your wife is too kind in her accolades of my talent."

"I was not!" Sarah huffed indignantly. "I certainly hope you will vouch for my word with a small sample of your ability later, Monsieur."

Erik deferentially bowed his head. "Madame, I would not impugn your integrity. Perhaps after cocktails I can oblige."

Robert laughed as Sarah shot him and "I told you so" look. "Please, let's not stand on formalities any more. Call me Robert."

"And I, Sarah!"

For the first time in a long time, Erik allowed the smallest of smiles. "Thank you. And of course, call me Erik."

Robert nodded and then motioned towards the small group of men speaking together a few steps away. "Come. Let me introduce you to the others."

When asked what he did, Erik was ready with, "I'm a scholar and musician, but an architect and inventor by trade."

"Ah, excellent! What have you designed?" One of the gentleman asked.

Erik cleared his throat. "Well, I spent a deal of time in Persia designing part of the Shah's playground. I also worked on a good deal of the design for the Paris Opera House."

"The opera, you say?" Robert asked and made eye contact with his wife, who came to his side with two of the other wives. They came to stand by their husbands and Robert cleared his throat. "Erik, we'd like to talk to you about that."

Erik's heart nearly stopped. Had they heard the rumors across the ocean? Were they about to lynch him? He looked quickly at the only exit available and felt his muscles tense in anticipation.

"Erik," Sarah began. "I know that New York may seem worlds away from Paris, but we have just opened our new Metropolitan Opera House. I must admit to being a little duplicitous in inviting you here tonight." Here, she looked a little sheepish. "You see, this group of friends all have a special interest in common: our love for opera. We're all patrons of the opera and were hoping that, perhaps, you might be interested in helping us by becoming one as well."

Erik blinked and opened, then shut his mouth. Not only was this the opposite of what he was expecting, it was his way to finding out if he was right and Christine was here. "Yes. Yes! Absolutely!"

"Fabulous!" One of the other wives gushed. "They're rehearsing for a production of _Faust_ and the managers promised us a small preview tomorrow. I hear the leading soprano is wonderful.

Erik's throat tightened. "Do you know her name?"

The group looked amongst themselves and Sarah finally shook her head. "I'm sorry. They just cast the opera about two weeks ago and many of us have been out of the city this summer so far. You'll have to forgive us. We're generally far more 'in the know' than this."

The evening passed quickly and at the end of the small gathering, Erik obliged them with a piece of his own composing. The women were moved to tears and even the most stoic of the men had to clear his throat afterwards. As they exchanged good-nights, Erik found himself alone with the Brokaws.

"Sarah has told me about your musical talent, but I had no idea how much of a genius you truly are. I imagine you are grateful that your hands weren't injured as well," Robert spoke.

Erik frowned slightly. "My hands?"

"I'm sorry. I simply assumed you were injured in some way," Robert corrected. "You see, I was injured at one of my factories." Here, Robert unfastened his collar and held it from his neck.

Erik had seen the heavy scarring on his chin and neck when they were first introduced, but now that he could see even more, he realized just how badly Robert had been injured. "How did it happen?" he asked.

Sarah looped her arm through her husband's and Erik saw nothing but complete love in her eyes as she leant him her support.

"In my younger years, I was a bit reckless," Robert began. "I'm in the steel industry because I worked in it from the ground up. I was going too fast and tripped. Fell right against one of the smelting pots. It was only for a second, but the damage was done. My scars go all the way down to my waist."

Erik pictured the incident and was amazed Robert was still alive to speak of it. "Your recovery must have been excruciating."

"Oh, it was! But I had such an amazing nurse. I was lucky in many ways: most especially since she took pity on me and agreed to marry me," he joked. "But I'm sorry again. It was wrong of me to assume regarding your trouble."

Erik found for the first time in his life that he wasn't angry about discussing himself. "I was born with my disfigurement. While it wasn't painful physically, my mother made it quite emotionally scarring. She cast me away when I was only five."

Sarah gasped and Robert covered her hand with his.

"It was for the best. I traveled with a gypsy caravan for quite a while until I was old enough to strike out on my own. I found ways of educating myself enough to be taken under the wings of some of the finest designers Italy has to offer and made my way from there." Here, Erik looked up and somewhat smiled self-deprecatingly. "Alas, no beautiful nurse for me."

Robert nodded in sympathy and handed him another brandy. "Well, Erik...I can only imagine what you've been through. I _can_ promise, though, that our circle of friends will not judge you by that story. Hell, they put up with me!" He raised his glass to Erik's and said, "To a fresh start in a new country!"

"And to a new patron of the arts!" Sarah added.

* * *

The next morning, Erik was nearly beside himself with anticipation. He had not slept well the night before. He kept mulling over the acceptance of this circle of people, trying to look for any sign of duplicity. But in his constant reviewing of their actions and reactions to him, he could see nothing but a shared artistic love. Now... _now_...he was so close to seeing if he had been right about where Christine had gone. He paced his chamber from end to end like a pent-up tiger. He had been unable to eat and had hardly touched his tea. Every few moments he looked at the clock on the mantel and then at his pocket watch. Then he would stop in front of the full-length mirror and adjust the cuffs of his shirt and pick a miniscule piece of lint off of his jacket sleeve. He was in the midst of his fifth round of pacing when there was a knock at his door. Taking a breath to calm himself, he walked to the door and opened it.

"Erik! Good morning," Sarah greeted him. "I hope this isn't too early."

"No. Not at all. I'm eager to see this opera house."

"I hope you don't mind coming with the women," Sarah apologized. "The men generally leave us with the particulars of spending their money on the arts." Here she laughed.

"Not at all. It's a new position for me to be in. Generally, women avoid me." Erik again allowed a small smile to show.

Sarah reached out and took his arm. "Well, my dear Monsieur Leroux, this particular group of women have been swept away by your music. They are all bemoaning the fact that they are married."

Erik couldn't help but scoff. "You are too kind, Madame."

"It's Sarah, remember? You _must_ call me by my first name. The others will be spectacularly jealous!" She laughed musically.

"Sarah," he agreed.

They walked to the opera house from the club and met the other ladies there. They were already speaking with one of the managers who greeted the two as they arrived

"Mr. Leroux? Welcome to the New York Metropolitan Opera," the thin man said, offering his hand. "I'm Henry Abbey, one of the general managers here. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Erik shook the man's hand and nodded. "I think we're all looking forward to a small preview of your performance."

"Absolutely! Our soprano, Marie, is simply wonderful. We'll take a quick tour for your benefit and peek in on rehearsal after. They should be on Act III then."

Erik struggled to contain his disappointment. Christine was not the lead soprano. Perhaps she wasn't even here. Had he traveled this far for nothing?

"Shall we proceed?" The manager asked, motioning for the women to precede him through the doors.

Erik barely heard Mr. Abbey's tour even though it was mostly for his benefit. The knot in his chest, coupled with the fog his thoughts were in prevented him from really comprehending anything that was happening as they walked through the theater. It was the thought that by hedging his bets and believing he was correct, he'd lost every opportunity to find her... _his_ Christine. Even if he went back to Paris, her trail was undoubtedly cold. He'd lost her forever.

The tour returned to the theater itself and the small group sat in the middle of the theater as the music director conferred with the manager. Sarah found herself on Erik's left side and touched his arm. "Erik, are you alright?"

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus on the here and now. "I'm a little distracted. I apologize."

Sarah frowned. She felt there was more, but she also knew he was an intensely private man. At any rate, she had lost her chance to pursue the issue further as the piano accompanist began and the lead soprano took her place on stage.

As the woman sang Marguerite's aria, Erik was pleased with her talent but found the choice of musical piece ironic and, perhaps, somewhat prophetic. She sang about the King of Thule who remained true to the memory of his love until the day he died. Erik felt, listening to the words and to the lovely melody, that here was his future. He was likely never going to see Christine again, but he would never be able to remove her from his mind...his heart...his soul.

The performance ended and the small audience applauded. Mr. Abbey stood up and led the group to a side door in order to exit the auditorium. As Erik waited for the women to exit in front of him, he heard the director call for a break for the cast. Cast and crew began leaving the stage area and Erik once again felt a tiny blossom of hope as he scanned the many faces: to no avail. He followed Sarah out the door and into the hallway as he heard the director call the understudies for rehearsal.

"Oh!" Sarah exclaimed as she tripped on the hem of her dress and Erik reached out to steady her. "I'm such a mess," she sighed exasperatedly and motioned that she was fine. She shrugged her shoulders helplessly and started to continue down the hall, but Erik had stopped moving and his eyes had gone wide. The gasp that escaped from him drew Sarah's attention back and she turned to watch him abruptly turn back to the door. Concerned by his odd behavior, Sarah went back to where he was standing to find him staring at the young woman on stage currently singing.

It was _her_! He knew it from the very first note that had floated to his ears. He didn't even remember moving to the door, but here he was and there she was, glorious in both music and appearance. He drank in every note and let his eyes feast themselves on her after being starved for months.

Sarah saw everything; his face, his stance, his hands clenching and unclenching...and she looked at the woman on stage and immediately knew he loved her...adored her...desired her. And she swore to herself she would discover this story.

He didn't want to leave. If he could freeze time right at this moment, he could be happy for the rest of eternity. He hadn't realized just how much of his soul had been ripped away the night he'd allowed her to leave him. He had been so deep in despair and for so long that now that he had that part back, he realized he'd been little more than a walking corpse. Now...now he was _alive_. And he wanted to stay that way. He came to realize Sarah had laid her hand on his arm and he finally managed to refocus himself and look at her. She said nothing but Erik saw understanding in her eyes. And that meant more to him than any words ever could. She gently pulled him away to follow where the others had gone, never removing her hand from his arm and not saying a word.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Money...lots of it...was a wondrous thing. Erik had never cared about it except that he could have things and conveniences he wanted with it. In New York, it purchased entrance into a society that could care less about looks and a marvelous, nearly unlimited access to the opera house. The managers had been so astounded by his generosity that they had given him his choice of boxes and offered to assign him a valet, but he declined that. He did not want rumors of his appearance to reach Christine's ears. Instead, the managers allowed him to come and go as he pleased, which was perfect for him.

He had been back to the opera every day for the past week, remaining quietly hidden in the shadows as he explored the opera house and attended every rehearsal. He had seen both Meg and her mother on several occasions and resisted the temptation to reach out. This evening, as rehearsal had ended a little early, everyone had cleared out of the auditorium, leaving only a lone, older cleaning lady sweeping up. He was nearly positive that Christine hadn't left (he always watched for her) but was beginning to think he had missed her exit when he saw movement from stage left and his heart tightened in his chest. He moved to the darker shadows of the auditorium and slowly made his way closer to the front simply to see her. And that was when she started to sing. It was the duet from Act V of _Faust_ and, though no one was with her to sing the part of Faust, she made it work. The declaration of her love poured forth in song and the emotional range felt real.

Erik allowed himself to pretend she sang those words to him and he quietly sang the parts that belonged to Marguerite's love. He was moved beyond measure and when she finished, it was all he could do not to sob aloud as his dream ended. He looked away for a moment to remind himself that as much as he loved her, she did not feel the same. And then she began to sing again.

"You have brought me, to that moment where words run dry...to that moment where speech disappears into silence...silence…"

Erik found himself staggering to hold on to the back of a seat. She was singing _his_ music...the piece he had created for _them_! Her eyes were closed as she gave in to the passion of his music...just like that fateful night months ago. But tonight...tonight she sang with more. He watched as she ran her hands over her body, singing the words and owning them as she had never before. She took him with her, pulling him mind, body, and soul through the emotions she was feeling. He felt her voice wrap around him, caressing and teasing his body into responses he couldn't control. He was left at the mercy of her voice and he felt his legs grow shaky…

As her voice came down from the climax of the music, ending with, "We've passed the point of no return," she shivered as she opened her eyes and seemingly looked right at him as she whispered, "Erik."

He nearly collapsed. He knew he was out of sight but he felt her eyes on him and drew in a ragged breath. His name! She had whispered his name! She had _never_ spoken it aloud to him. He had always been "Angel" until she had discovered the truth. Four little letters...two syllables...a name that had almost always been a curse, had sounded from her lips like he had only ever imagined it would in a moment of passion that he would never share with her. He couldn't move, couldn't speak...and could only watch as she gathered her things and wandered slowly off stage and to the door leading outside. As soon as he heard the door close, he allowed his legs to give out and collapsed in the aisle, his back leaning against the seat he'd been clutching like a lifeline. Dear God, what had he just experienced? First, her voice had literally coaxed feelings and reactions from him and his body that he'd never experienced before. Second, she had _said his name_... _after_ finishing _his_ song...after caressing herself, holding herself as if it were the duet's partner's arms around her. He couldn't allow himself to feel a shred of hope: no! He wouldn't! Look where it had gotten him before. But...why had she sung _his_ music? And of all the pieces, the most passionate he'd ever created?

He _had_ to know more...had to find out what she was thinking. He'd made mistakes like this before. He wasn't willing to do so again. He needed to be sure of where he stood this time: whether it be with her or from the shadows.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

The short time Christine and Meg had been in New York had been amazing for both of them. Meg had blossomed simply by being herself. She had made many friends throughout all the levels of the opera. Meg's bubbly charisma endeared her to the other ballerinas, the chorus, and nearly all of the stagehands and behind-the-scenes workers. Because of that, she had constant offers to dinner and fun events with which she tried to convince Christine to come. Sometimes she went, but more often, she chose not to.

Christine found herself beginning to relax a little now that they had heard no word of or from Raoul in a month. She was enjoying this new country and found New York exciting and far more open than Paris. Tonight, she and Meg had plans for dinner and, as rehearsals ended, Christine found herself being dragged towards the door nearly immediately.

"I know how you are, Christine!" Meg said before she could say anything. "You'll decide you want to rehearse a bit more and then we'll be stuck here for two more hours!"

"That's not always true," Christine laughed. "But don't worry. I'm hungry tonight so let's go!"

The two best friends stepped out into the warm night.

"There's a wonderful cafe by the park that Rose told me about. I want to try it. She gave me the name of her brother who works there and said he'd give us a discount. Plus, she said he was cute!" Meg added conspiratorially.

Christine heaved a sigh. "Meg, you're turning into such a flirt!"

Meg giggled. "But it's fun! And how else do you expect to find someone? There are so many cute men!"

Christine shook her head, ready to argue, but they were at the cafe and Meg was asking for Rose's brother. As they waited to be seated, Christine wandered a little closer to the park. She sat on a bench under a tree at the edge of it and watched the people walking by. She enjoyed coming up with stories about them in her head. She watched a young couple walk by, hand in hand, and decided they were on the way to a party to announce their engagement. Another, older couple walked by, talking but not really appearing romantic so they were colleagues simply having a discussion about the latest styles from Europe. It wasn't long before Meg came to collect her and they were seated for dinner.

Most of the conversation revolved around Meg and her particular experiences with the ballet part of the opera. As dinner wrapped up and they stood to leave, William, the waiter, quickly came to them to give them a complimentary dessert. Meg giggled and, as they walked towards the park, she opened the bag to find a note asking her to stop by the next night for a date.

Christine shook her head. "I don't know how you do it! You just smile and men are falling all over themselves to talk to you. You have no shortage of opportunities with the opposite sex!"

"You could be the same way! You're so beautiful and talented. You have no idea how many people have said that about you! But you have this...this unapproachable aura about you." Meg led them to a bench farther along the path into the park and took Christine's hand, pulling her to sit down with her. "It's not a bad thing: not like Carlotta. It's more this sadness about you," she added, seeing Christine's look of horror. "People have asked me if you had a boyfriend who died."

"What?! Oh my God! I feel so stupid! Am I really that bad?" Christine asked, chagrined.

"Don't feel stupid, Christine. But really, you're very melancholy. Are you sorry you left Paris? Do you miss Raoul?" Meg asked, leaning forward and taking her hands in hers.

"I made a terrible mistake, Meg. And I think I'll always be paying for it." Christine took a deep breath, albeit a shaky one. "I fooled myself. I thought I was in love with Raoul, but it was really all the fancy and exciting ideas of being married to a vicomte that I was in love with. We were childhood friends but we hadn't seen each other for over thirteen years. I didn't really know him any more. And he didn't know me at all."

"Why do you say that? I thought you two were so in love…," Meg asked, confused. "I mean, for a while you were walking around like you were on air."

"He didn't listen to me...to what I wanted. Everything just got so out of control so quickly. And by the time I had realized it wasn't Raoul I loved, it was too late," Christine replied quietly.

"It wasn't Raoul you loved? Does that mean there was someone else?" Meg asked, confused even more.

"I don't know. Meg, you must promise me not to judge. I _need_ to talk to someone. I need to understand what I was feeling. Will you help me? But swear you won't be afraid!" Christine begged.

Meg frowned in confusion. "Of _course_ I won't be afraid or judge you! Christine, love is love!"

She swallowed hard and nodded silently at her friend. "I think I've felt love for different people in different ways. I loved my father dearly. I love you and your mother. I even loved Raoul...but those feelings were _nothing_ compared to what I felt when I was in _his_ presence."

"Whose?" Meg asked.

"My angel's."

"But Christine! Your 'angel' was actually the Phantom!" Meg felt she needed to remind her friend.

"I know, Meg. When he was my teacher, I felt something indescribable with him. At first, when I thought he was an angel...a _real_ angel...I think I loved the idea of that image. But I ruined everything because I had to see what his mask hid. And then Raoul came back into my life and my angel transformed. He became controlling and angry. And it scared me to realize what he was and could do. But that night he took me? He willingly let me go with Raoul. He sent me away from him even though he had wanted me to stay. I thought that was what I wanted, but then Raoul became just as controlling! They both fought over me like a prize to own. And I resented them both for it!" Christine finished.

Meg remained silent for a few moments, turning over everything Christine had just revealed. Her friend, her _best_ friend, had never told her much about those seemingly dark days. This was _not_ what she thought Christine had been hiding. "Christine...the Phantom, from what little I know, had never made his presence so overtly known as when he chose you to be his protege. You say he was an angel… How long had you been aware of his presence before _Hannibal_?"

"By then I'd been taking lessons for months, but he used to speak to me once in a while before that. I suppose I'd been visited by him for nearly a year in total."

Meg nodded. "And you say he had never been angry or controlling with you until after your performance that night?"

"Right."

"Christine, everything he did...he was jealous of Raoul. Raoul was the perfect man: younger, handsome, rich. And he swooped in in such a short time when it had taken the Phantom months to get simply to the point of showing himself to you. He was in love."

"He had a horrible way of showing it!" Christine replied.

"How would he know?" Meg countered, oddly finding herself squarely on the side of this terrifying man from their past.

"How would he know what?" Christine asked, confused.

"How would he know how to act? How to show you his love? He probably never had any experience with relationships. Think about it! I've heard Mother quietly tell a few things she knew about him to Monsieur Reyes. How would he ever have any relationships with a woman in his situation? He acted out of jealousy because he simply didn't know how to show you how he felt."

Christine sat quietly for a moment, digesting what Meg had said. "We were both behaving so immaturely. It makes me feel so embarrassed to think about how childish I was. But, Meg...there's more. I was terrified of how I felt: how he made me feel."

"What do you mean?"

Christine lowered her eyes, feeling her cheeks flush red in advance of what she was about to share. "Meg, I felt things I've never felt before...or since. Before he finally showed himself to me, I'd have this anticipation with me all day, waiting to hear his voice. There was this feeling I would have in the pit of my stomach, like a knot...but it was a _good_ feeling. And when I'd hear his voice, it felt like something shot through me. Oh, and when he sang…." Here Christine trailed off for a moment, closing her eyes. Sighing, she opened them again. "His voice just wrapped around me and made me feel safe and secure."

Meg didn't say anything. Instead, she clasped her friend's hands more tightly, encouraging her to continue.

Swallowing hard, Christine continued, her voice shaking. "When he finally came to me physically, he held his hand out to me and when I took it...oh, Meg! It was like everything in my body stopped working for a split second and then started abruptly again. And after that, every time he was near me, it was if there was some kind of invisible current flowing between us. Even when I couldn't see him, I could still feel him nearby when he was there. And then...the night of his opera...when he sang with me on stage…," Christine trailed off, lost in her emotions.

"It's okay, Christine. You can tell me," Meg encouraged her gently.

Christine's cheeks burned. Quietly she continued, almost in a whisper, "His words made me lightheaded, his presence electrified me, and when I touched him...wrapped my arms around him...I burned. It's the only way I can describe what I felt. My body felt on fire and everything in my body felt liquid." Here, her voice nearly gave out. "And Meg," swallowing hard, she ducked her head even lower, "I felt such heat and throbbing….here," she said, obviously embarrassed and, giving up on words, instead removed her hands from Meg's and placed them in her own lap.

Again, Meg stayed quiet, knowing her friend was completely uncomfortable. She put an understanding hand on her friend's knee. After a few moments of collecting her thoughts and courage, Christine continued.

"Those feelings...they absolutely terrified me….and... _thrilled_ me. I was so afraid of what would happen if I didn't get away from that. But now….," again she paused. "Now I wonder."

Meg finally spoke. "Did Raoul make you feel like that?"

Christine looked up at that. "No! Never."

"Did you ever kiss the Phantom?" Meg asked.

Christine hesitated before answering, "Yes."

"What did it feel like?"

"I didn't expect it to feel the way it did. It was as if I lost the ability to stand. My knees nearly gave out and I felt like something was alive in my stomach, fighting to get out."

"Did you feel that way when Raoul kissed you?" Meg asked further.

Christine swallowed hard and shook her head.

Meg took a deep breath and let it out. "Oh, Christine."

"Please, Meg! Don't hate me!" Christine whispered quietly.

"Christine, I don't hate you! I feel _sorry_ for you!" Meg corrected.

Christine frowned. "Sorry?"

Meg grabbed her friend's hands again. "Christine, all those things you felt with the Phantom? That was _desire_. The heat? The throbbing? That was your body telling you that you should be with him. The way you felt when you kissed him? The fact you never felt that way with Raoul means you never really loved him. You can't be happy with Raoul when the Phantom makes you feel the way you described. You said you don't know what would have happened if you had followed those feelings? You were afraid you'd lose control...but that's what makes the difference between existing and living. And you want to live! Believe me, you want to feel everything you denied yourself. A physical reaction like that? God, Christine! When a man and a woman have that, then making love would be like nothing else you've ever felt!"

Christine gasped, "Meg! That's scandalous!"

Meg shook her head. "No. It's _love_ , Christine! What you had with Raoul? That wasn't love."

"Then...you think that I never really loved Raoul?" Christine asked.

Meg shook her head.

"And what I experienced with Erik…" She trailed off, staring into the trees nearby.

Meg frowned. "Erik?"

Christine turned back. "Erik is his real name."

Meg's eyes widened. "I didn't know. I mean, obviously he had a name other than 'Phantom'...but I never thought about it."

"Oh, Meg. I've made so many mistakes and hurt so many people needlessly. And you've just woken me up to what I already knew but was afraid to admit."

Meg gasped excitedly. "You _do_ love him! Oh, Christine! What are you going to do? Are you going to tell him?"

"How?" She replied simply, looking deflated.

"You could…." Meg stopped. How indeed? "Oh."

Christine wiped the tears at the corner of her eyes. "It's getting late. We should go home."

They stood up and Meg fiercely hugged her friend tight. "Don't give up, Christine. I don't know how, but it will work out. I just know it."

They parted and started down the path back to the street. They had walked a few yards when Meg realized she'd forgotten their dessert. "I'll get it. I'll be right back," Christine said as she turned back.

She came around the corner and bent down by the bench they had been sitting at to retrieve the small bag they'd left behind. Standing up, Christine caught movement out of the corner of her eye in the trees beyond the low stone fence the bench sat against. She searched with her eyes but it was getting too dark to see much. She turned to leave and a small breeze lightly brushed past her and, for a brief moment, she caught the scent of sandalwood and patchouli. It was a scent she had always associated with Erik but it was so brief that she decided her senses were playing tricks on her because of her emotional state and she quickly wiped another tear away as she turned and left.

His eyes never left her until she and Meg disappeared into their flat. He had heard everything they had spoken about. As he slowly made his way home, Erik fought hard to look at everything objectively, but all he kept hearing was Christine's voice saying, "You've woken me up to what I already knew." Her feelings...she had described in detail how _he_ made her feel... _not_ Raoul. She had admitted she'd made a mistake in choosing Raoul. She could still be his in more than his fantasies. But how to proceed? He couldn't take the chance he'd scare her away again. If only he could know her perspective better...know how women thought. And then it hit him: Sarah.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

There had been no time to speak with Sarah in the days between overhearing the conversation and opening night. Sarah had been away assisting with a health clinic and Erik himself had been drawn into helping Robert in a visit to a site where he was planning on building one of the new skyscraper-style buildings that were beginning to take hold. Erik was intrigued by the new architectural designs and promised Robert he would work on one for him that kept the traditional Greek architectural beauty they both favored.

His time spent with Robert helped to keep his mind occupied and also helped cement their friendship. This was the first time other than his limited experience with the daroga in Persia, where he felt able to speak man to man with someone who not only was intelligent but who also shared his experience in handling a disfigurement, even though Robert's was more easily hidden. The proverbial ice had already been broken for him here in New York. The upper class was not aristocrats; they were self-made like Erik and didn't harbor any disgust or disregard for those who had problems like he did. He had never been very good with social interactions because of his situation. Now he was getting quite the education and trial by fire. Robert had been invaluable in helping ease him into society. They ate lunch at the club with a small group of friends and no one batted an eye that Erik needed to take extremely minimal bites and take the entire lunch slowly because of his mask. He still preferred to be about more at night, but the looks he received while being out and about in the neighborhoods they frequented were few and generally only glancing. His temper improved. His conversational skills increased. And, dare he admit it? He found himself not only tolerating human companionship; he actually enjoyed it for the first time in his life.

Erik thought over all of this as he dressed for the gala opening of _Faust_. He was pleased with his tailor and the cut of the coat of his tuxedo. Apparently, a new style here in New York, was almost a cape-like coat tail that split up the middle. He approved and stood in front of the mirror in his chambers: something he did not generally do. He looked at his reflection and, for a moment, pictured _her_ by his side: a portrait of sorts. He needed to speak to Sarah. He was sure she would have an idea for him.

As if on cue, there was a light knock at his door.

"Erik! You look positively dashing!" Sarah said by the way of greeting as he opened the door. She recognized the small lift of the corner of his lip as his smile and she continued, "May I?" He held his arm up and she felt the material, nodding her approval.

"You look exquisite. Amethyst is truly your color," Erik complemented her in return.

"Are you ready? I can hardly wait! _Faust_ is one of my favorite operas," Sarah sighed. "It's so romantically tragic!"

"Indeed, it is." He looked over her shoulder. "Where is Robert?"

Sarah frowned in annoyance. "He can't joins us tonight. He had to travel to one of his refineries because there's an issue with the manager and the local mayor of the town. I hope you don't mind escorting me tonight."

Erik's eyebrow raised marginally. "Isn't that a bit scandalous?"

Sarah smiled, "I certainly hope so! I will be the envy of all the women there!"

Erik actually laughed. "You cannot be serious!"

Sarah put her arm through his as they began to leave. "You have no idea how much of a stir you've created, my dear Erik! Every one of the women in our circle has been talking about the dashing man in the mask. And after the example of your musical prowess, there are several who are hoping to introduce you to some of their unattached female friends."

Erik stopped abruptly. "What?!"

Sarah nodded. "Erik, I told you; it's very different here in New York. In these circles anyhow."

"I am not accustomed to socializing let alone socializing with ladies. This is supremely awkward for me: and something I'd like to speak with you about."

"Oh? Is there someone you're interested in?" Sarah's eyes sparkled. "I'd _love_ to play matchmaker for you!"

"I do need a woman's view on this...desperately," Erik confessed.

"Then after the performance tonight, you'll tell me everything!"

* * *

The opera was completely sold out for opening night. The creme de la creme of society was there as well as many others who simply enjoyed and supported the arts. Sarah artfully steered Erik down darker corridors without appearing to be hiding. She knew he was still extremely uncomfortable in public and this was definitely an overwhelming situation. Her concern for his comfort touched him and he found the hard shell he had always kept around himself slowly cracking to allow her and her husband in.

As they made their way to the Brokaw's box, Erik couldn't help but feel anxious. Even though she wouldn't be singing the lead, he would get to openly watch Christine without fear of discovery. His mind was racing with thoughts of how to approach her, how to change what had happened between them. He'd heard so much the other night: so much that had given him hope. But he still doubted himself. How could he not after what had happened when he had thought he'd won her heart before?

"Here we go, Erik. We'll be joined by two of our friends. You met them: Theodore and Rebecca Turner. They're the ones…." Sara stopped because Erik had stopped at the entrance to the private box. "What's wrong?"

Erik smiled slightly. "This is box five."

Sarah frowned briefly. "Well, yes. Is there a problem?"

"No. Call it prophetic. Box five was my box in Paris."

Sarah smiled as Erik ushered her inside. "I will take that as a good sign! It's telling you you're home and you're meant to stay here in New York."

"Perhaps you are right."

The performance began shortly after the other couple joined them and, beginning to end, Erik was unable to keep his eyes off the stage. The performance was excellent and he enjoyed the leads in their parts, but each time the chorus came on stage, Erik had no time for anything else happening anywhere. It didn't go unnoticed.

Sarah was an incredibly astute observer. She had made a hobby of reading everything she could about the study of psychology. While other women worked on needlepoint, she worked on case studies by Freud and Watson. Robert was a doting husband and encouraged her to pursue her interests. Because of that, Erik's abrupt changes in posture and breathing each time the chorus came on stage were clear signals to Sarah that something was definitely affecting him. She surreptitiously scanned the stage each time his attitude changed and settled on the young soprano understudy they had heard earlier that week. She raised her eyebrow and made a few mental notes for later.

After the performance and a standing ovation, Sarah took Erik by the arm. "Come. There's a cocktail reception being held by the board of trustees. We'll be able to meet some of the cast."

Erik pulled back. "No. You should go. I will wait for you outside in order to see you home."

"Don't be ridiculous! There are only a few people you won't know, aside from the cast, and the rest of the trustees are good people as well. There won't be any issue. Besides," Sarah added, seeing Erik's unchanged reluctance, "I want the other women jealous, remember? And honestly, it's something you can use to your advantage as well."

"What do you mean?" Erik frowned.

As Sarah artfully steered him towards the private lounge where the party would be, she took a chance that she was right about the understudy. "The fastest way to a woman's heart is to make her see what she's missing. No doubt word will spread that the dashing new patron was at the party and reach other ears."

Erik turned quickly to look at her. "How-"

"Later, Erik. Remember? You're supposed to tell me everything, but I think I know some of the pieces of this puzzle already," Sarah smiled knowingly.

Upon entering the lounge, they were greeted by the managers and Erik was introduced to some of the trustees he'd yet to meet. Sarah was right. His quiet aloofness and defferential treatment of the women left him the target of many bashful looks. He was relieved when the managers presented the leading lady and gentleman of the show.

"Ah! The toast of New York! Welcome, Marie!" Mr. Schoeffel, one of the managers, introduced her with a raised glass he promptly gave to the soprano. "May I present Marie van Cauteren: our leading lady, Marguerite!"

Everyone applauded and soon she was engaged in conversation with the women. A few moments later, Mr. Gray introduced Faust. "And here is Eugene Dufriche: our amazing and tragic Faust!"

As the small reception continued, Sarah coaxed Erik to meet the performers. "Marie, I'd like to introduce you to Monsieur Leroux. We are both fans of yours!"

Marie smiled as she extended her hand to Erik. Taking it in his and raising it to his lips briefly, he lowered it and nodded. "You have a beautiful voice, Madame. Your vibrato in the register above high C was perfectly executed. And the emotion you poured into the Act III aria was entirely convincing. You have a clear and wonderful talent."

The woman blushed. "Thank you. You obviously know music. It's wonderful to hear praise from someone who is knowledgeable."

"Oh, he's quite knowledgeable," Sarah interjected. "He is an amazing and accomplished composer and pianist. You would swear he can pull your soul into his music."

Erik raised the corner of his lips in a small smile. "Sarah, you do me a great honor but I am not that good."

Sarah looked at Marie and winked conspiratorially. "And he's ridiculously modest!"

"Mr. Leroux, I would love to hear you play sometime. I'm guessing you are a singer as well. You have an amazing timbre."

Erik cleared his throat. "Ah, yes….but it's been some time since I've indulged. I'm afraid I would make a very poor substitute for Mr. Dufriche."

Marie smiled again and lightly placed her hand on his arm. "Still, I hope you humor me some evening." She smiled, leaving the invitation open as she was led away to speak to a few others.

"Clearly the leading soprano finds you attractive!" Sarah whispered, smiling.

"What on earth do you mean?" Erik countered, moving to stand once again towards the back of the room and the friendly shadows there.

"Just how sheltered a life have you lived?" Sarah questioned incredulously. "She was flirting with you."

Erik scoffed. "Indeed!"

"She was! She touched you and asked you to sing for her some evening. That was an invitation! I _told_ you women would find you mysterious and attractive!" Sarah insisted.

"I find that incredibly difficult to believe. I have never once had _any_ woman show anything but fear when confronted with my appearance."

Sarah leaned closer and whispered quietly so as not to be overheard. "You see Mrs. Martin there? The woman in blue? She can't keep her eyes off of you!" As if to prove her point, they both caught her glancing their way. "And Mrs. Fisk...there in black?" Sarah surreptitiously lifted her finger and pointed. "She has a daughter of about twenty-two who is still single. She's asked me a great deal about you and if you might be interested in meeting her."

Erik's eyes widened in alarm at that and Sarah laughed again. "Oh, don't worry. I told her you weren't sure if you were staying in New York or possibly leaving for New Orleans soon. But, as you can see, you've stirred up many a woman's pulse here."

"I find this all very disturbing," Erik replied. "I do not have the social skills necessary to play these games."

"That's why I'm here," Sarah replied. "Now that Marie has met you, when she leaves to go celebrate with the rest of the cast, word of the mysterious and alluring masked patron will spread and she'll know you're here."

Erik turned abruptly towards her. " _Who_ will know?"

Sarah laid her hand on his arm in a calming gesture. As Robert said about betting at poker, she was "all in" now. "The young woman you can't take your eyes off of in the chorus. The understudy for Marie."

Erik swallowed hard, not sure if he could trust his voice, Sarah, or himself.

Sarah nodded. "I thought so. Let's leave and you can tell me everything...or nothing...or a little something...on our way back to the club. Shall we?"

Erik nodded and they said their good nights to the rest of the trustees.

* * *

"Marie! It's about damn time!" A sandy-haired man shouted from a table in the back of the pub she'd just entered.

Cheers went up as she and Eugene made their way to the back where the cast and crew were celebrating a terrific opening night. She deftly snatched a mug from someone's outstretched hand and sat at the table next to Meg and Christine.

"What do you want from me? You know Maurice and I have to schmooze with the trustees when they want us! We got out as soon as we could," Marie said, taking a sip of her ale.

"So what's it like, hobnobbing with the rich?" Another man asked.

"It's not so bad. They're actually nice enough."

"Sure...they're probably all, 'What a pretty voice!' No one ever knows or really appreciates what goes into making the production so good," scoffed a young chorus girl.

"Actually, one of the patrons knows music," Marie countered. "He complimented me on my vibrato technique. Apparently he's a bit of a composer, too, according to Mrs. Brokaw." Marie sighed. "He was quite dashing: actually kissed my hand! I invited him to play for me some evening. I certainly hope he takes me up on it!"

Several of the girls at Christine and Meg's table giggled. One asked, "Is he young and handsome?"

Marie turned their way to answer the girl. "Well, I think he's probably a bit older...maybe in his forties..and from what I could see, he was handsome."

"What do you mean, 'from what you could see'?" Meg asked, laughing.

"Well, the poor man was wearing a partial mask. He must have been injured in the war as a young boy," Marie conjectured.

Meg looked at Christine who had gone white as a ghost and was clutching the table as if it were the only thing keeping her from falling from her seat. "Mask?" Meg managed to squeak out over the sudden pounding of her heart.

"Yes. He must have suffered a terrible wound. But that hardly matters. He had such a commanding presence! He hardly spoke but there was just something about him that drew me in. Oh, and when he speaks!" Here, Marie sighed. "I'm sure if he ever sang, women would melt at his feet!"

Christine swallowed hard and Meg took hold of her hand. The girl at their table who had spoken before asked, "But a mask? What if he's horrible looking?"

Marie frowned at her. "Don't be so shallow, Joanna! He has the voice and presence of some kind of dark angel and the half of his face he reveals matches that perfectly. His eyes are amazing, too! One is ice blue and the other is green." Marie closed her eyes again and smiled. "I certainly don't care what he looks like...not with that voice!" She opened her eyes. "And neither do the trustees' wives, let me tell you! None of them could keep their eyes off of him! And he seemed to be escorting Mrs. Brokaw! I hope her husband knows the danger of allowing that!" She laughed.

Conversation continued about other things, but Christine felt as if the entire pub had disappeared around her. She was caught in a whirlwind of emotions that left her struggling to focus. She felt Meg gently tugging at her to stand up and she allowed her to lead them out of the pub and down the street to a quieter spot. She felt Meg tugging harder on her hand and heard her speaking and, with great effort, she finally turned her attention to her friend.

"Christine! Are you alright? You're starting to scare me!" Meg was frantic to get through to her friend.

She blinked several times and focused on Meg. "No. I'm not alright. Did you hear what Marie said?"

"It could be anyone, Christine. I'm sure the Phantom isn't the only man who wears a mask. Besides, what's the likelihood he would have come to New York of all places?"

"No, Meg. It's him. It's Erik. I _know_ it. But what Marie said… Did you hear how she spoke of him?"

"Yes. It sounds like he's made quite an impression: and not the same kind as in Paris. I mean, if he isn't sneaking around and haunting a place, I suppose it stands to reason no one would be afraid of him," Meg replied thoughtfully.

"She said women were taken with him, regardless of his looks." Christine stopped and felt a lump begin to form in her throat. "Marie called Joanna 'shallow'. What does that make me? Not only did I strip him of his mask twice, I shunned him for the way he looks. How horrible of a person am I….truly?"

"Oh, Christine! Don't! You weren't under the same circumstances. He lied to you and tried to force you to stay with him! You've changed since then and, apparently, so has he. You're not shallow!" Meg argued.

Christine shook her head, "Look at who I picked instead: a young, rich, and handsome Raoul. He swept me up all because of those things. That's the very definition of shallow."

Meg remained quiet, not sure what to say. She hated to see Christine hurt so much. "Well, if it _is_ the Phan-I mean _Erik_ -the only reason he's here is for you. Somehow, he knew you were here. That means he still wants you. What do _you_ want, Christine?"

"How could he still want me after I completely destroyed his life?!" Christine asked angrily. And she _was_ angry: at herself.

Meg was quiet again. Instead of answering her friend, she hugged her. When they pulled apart, there were tears in both of their eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

The next morning dawned rainy and miserable. Erik wandered down to the library and took tea there, sketching out a preliminary design for Robert's new building. He needed something to distract him this morning. He wanted to go back to the opera, but at the same time, he didn't want to become the "stalker" he had been before. To have Christine so close and not be able to see her every day...hear her voice every day...was torture. But he refused to make the same mistakes he had before. He had come to the decision he needed to confide in Sarah and ask for her help, hence his current spot in the library. And before long, she appeared.

"Good morning, Erik! You're up early: and already working, I see," Sarah said, coming to stand by his table.

"I promised Robert to work on a building design for him. What do you think?" He asked, turning his sketch so she could see it.

Sarah gasped. "It's magnificent! When you mentioned architecture, I don't think I truly realized you meant it so seriously! My God, is there anything you _can't_ do?"

Erik cleared his throat and motioned for her to sit. "Actually, there is. And perhaps you would be willing to help me. I'm not accustomed to asking for help, so you must forgive any faux pas I may make."

Sarah arched one eyebrow and took a seat. "James," she called to a steward standing and polishing some silver at the far end of the room, "can you please bring me a pot of coffee and a scone?"

"Right away, Mrs. Brokaw," he replied, leaving on his errand.

Sarah smiled in encouragement. "I've been told I'm an excellent listener. Please, tell me what I can do."

It was nearly lunch by the time Erik finished his story. He had left very little out. He started his story by telling Sarah of his education in Italy and his dark times in Persia with the Shah. He told her of what he'd seen there and how he couldn't bear it any more. He spoke of how he came to know Paris and of his plan to live out the rest of his days in solitude under the opera. He told her of the sad young girl who had come to the corps de ballet as an orphan and how she prayed every night alone, asking her father to send her the Angel of Music as he'd promised on his deathbed. He told of how he watched her grow into a young woman before his eyes and how suddenly those eyes began to see her beauty and how it created a longing in him to speak to her...to let her know she wasn't alone in her feelings of isolation. He told Sarah how he finally broke his silence, pretending to be that angel and how he began teaching her, never allowing her to see him. He felt her affection deepening but realized their entire relationship was a lie and that, if he ever hoped to win her, he needed to show her he was a man and not an angel.

He told her of how he orchestrated her rise to the lead role in _Hannibal_ and how she had triumphed in it. And then he told her of the Vicomte de Chagny. He spoke truthfully about his terrible jealousy and rage and how he felt betrayed by Christine when she ripped his mask from him and fled in terror: right into the waiting arms of the handsome young man. He told her about Joseph Bouquet and that the drunken man's fall came as he was running from Erik, but that everyone thought he'd killed him. He told her of Christine and Raoul's engagement and how he lost his mind with pain and jealousy and kidnapped Christine. He spoke of how he'd held Raoul ransom for her love and how she had not only agreed to stay with him, she had kissed him. He told Sarah how that act had broken through his jealous rage and that he'd allowed them both to go and how he'd barely existed for nearly two months when Raoul came searching for her.

He finished his story by relating the conversation between Christine and Meg that he had eavesdropped on. "So you see, I feel there is hope, but I do not know how to handle things this time," Erik finished, eyes pleading with Sarah for understanding.

Sarah sat back in her chair and finished the last of her second pot of coffee. She studied the man before her, understanding the shadow that always haunted his eyes. She shook her head. "Oh, Erik. I hardly know what to say. Your entire life has been so tragic and for no real reason. And look at how brilliant and accomplished you are in spite of those experiences. This woman, Christine...it sounds as though neither of you understood what you were feeling or how to act. Both of you are proverbial virgins in the way of love. Both of you acted immaturely through no real faults of your own. But if she left the Vicomte and came here, then that's her first step in learning to be an independent thinker. She recognized what love wasn't. Now she needs to know what love _is_.

"I'm sure she knows you're here now. I believe Marie went to the cast party last night and I'm positive she spoke of you. Perhaps Christine needs a taste of her own medicine," Sarah posited.

"I don't understand," Erik spoke.

"Make _her_ jealous! The fastest way to a woman's heart is to show her what could have been."

"That would be easier said than done," Erik scoffed. "I would need someone with which to make her jealous."

"I think I have the perfect person for that!" Sarah exclaimed.

"Who would possibly be willing to play a role like that?" Erik asked, unconvinced.

"My sister!"


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

In the two weeks that passed since their talk in the library, Sarah made good on her word. Her sister, Genevieve, was enlisted and, being a hopeless romantic herself, played her part to a T. They came to the opera together twice and were sure to be seen at several dinner parties where they stirred up just enough gossip to get people talking about them. The social occasions were always carefully orchestrated by Sarah to include the managers of the opera one night, Anton Seidl, the conductor, another night, and Marie and Eugene on another. Rumors of the dashing and gallant masked patron came back to the cast and it was all many of the girls in the chorus could talk about.

"How terribly romantic," Leah sighed upon hearing the latest story.

"What's romantic?" Meg asked as she walked by after their most recent performance.

"The story of Mr. Leroux. I heard that the woman he's been seen with so frequently is Mrs. Brokaw's sister and that she's the one who introduced them. I think it's such an amazing love story! They say they've been seen _everywhere_ together!"

Meg cleared her throat and shot Christine, who was standing right beside her, a look. "Well, you know how those society people are. Tomorrow she'll be seen with someone else."

"Even if she was, there'd be someone to take her place! They say the ladies positively swoon over him. I hope he comes to the final curtain party! Marie said just being near him is electric!" Monique butted in and gushed.

Christine did an about face and went off in another direction. It was easy enough to weed through the crowded backstage until she managed to slip back onstage and behind one of the large props. Most of the audience had cleared out; just a few stragglers were left. Mr. Crawford, the stage manager nodded to her that it was okay and she stepped back onstage to watch the last of the patrons leave. She scanned the boxes, hoping to see this masked man, but to no avail. It had been her habit to stay each night and be the last of the cast and crew to leave, hoping that, if it was, indeed, Erik who was creating the stir, he would come to her when she was alone. But he never did. As the doors got locked up and she truly became the last person in the auditorium, she felt her frustration begin to build. And with that frustration came doubt. It couldn't be him. He would have come to her by now! She knew it. She opened her heart and sang for the empty theater, hoping if he were here, he'd come to her now: but no. At the penultimate performance tomorrow night, the two understudies were allowed to perform one piece during the evening. She knew that, if it was Erik who was here, he'd be there. She would know one way or the other: and she felt both excitement and trepidation at the thought.

* * *

The next night, many of the trustees were back for the special show. They threw a small party at the end of the run of each opera for the cast and crew as a way of thanking them for their hard work. As the performance moved on towards the duet which would feature Christine and Maurice's understudy, Louis, she couldn't help but notice the butterflies building in her stomach. It wasn't the thought of singing in front of an enormous audience that made her feel that way; it was the thought that she would be singing for _him_. Every moment she was on stage before her duet, she spent the time scanning the front of the audience and the boxes to no avail. But the excitement she felt kept building moment by moment until, finally, she stepped on stage for her moment of fame in Marguerite and Faust's tragic duet.

She felt herself being drawn to one specific box and, since, the part of Faust was being sung as though she couldn't see him, she directed her voice and soul above her head to that box. Her eyes tried to penetrate its shadowy confines and, perhaps it was her imagination...or her heart…she thought she saw someone lean forward attentively and caught a flash of white, briefly: perhaps a mask?

As the duet finished, the audience, completely breaking with tradition, leapt to their feet in thunderous applause, halting the production for a good two minutes. She hardly noticed, instead looking desperately for her angel.

As the show ended and curtain calls began, Meg ran to Christine's side. "Oh, Christine! You were divine! _Everyone_ was amazed!"

Christine smiled distractedly. "Thank you, Meg."

"What's wrong?" Meg grabbed her friend's hand.

"I think he's here. I feel...different tonight," Christine answered, eyes everywhere but on Meg. Before she could say more, their cue came up and they came back on stage for their bows.

After the final curtain call, the cast and crew hurried to get out of costumes and clean up in order to begin their celebration. As the audience cleared out, caterers appeared on stage, setting up a small bar and some finger food for the party. As members started appearing back on stage, some of the trustees began showing up as well, congratulating lead performers and directors on a run well done. Christine had been chatting with two of the patrons along with Marie when Meg came to stand nearby. She handed them both glasses of wine and remained by her friend's side, happy to hear the patrons praise both her and Marie's performances.

As the two patrons began talking to another member of the cast, Marie grabbed Christine's arm. "That's him! That's Mr. Leroux!"

Several things happened to Christine all at once. She felt Marie's hand on her arm, turning her in the direction in which she was pointing. She saw Meg's eyes go round as her hand shot to her mouth, and then she felt an explosion in her chest and stomach as her eyes landed on Erik's masked profile. She felt her heart race and she grew lightheaded. She wanted to run to him but before she could act on impulse, she watched as he turned and offered his arm to the beautiful woman next to him. The woman leaned in to speak to him and Christine saw something she had never seen before; Erik smiled.

Immediately, Christine's throat tightened and she felt sick in her stomach. Before she could speak...react...Marie grabbed her hand and pulled her with as she went to speak to them.

"No! I can't," she said, shaking her head and pulling her hand out of Marie's grasp.

"Suit yourself," Marie shrugged and continued to where Erik and Genevieve stood.

Christine watched as Erik took Marie's hand and kissed it, bowing slightly as they apparently exchanged pleasantries. She watched as yet again Erik smiled. And she watched still as she saw Marie motion to Christine. Almost as though in slow motion, she saw Erik follow Marie's gesture and his eyes locked with hers. She felt caught in that endless moment; everyone and everything else slipped away and it was just them. Christine's breath stopped and she felt heat building in her body. His stare burned into her and she felt pinned, unable to move.

It was he who broke the eye contact as he turned to Marie, shaking his head. Then, without looking at Christine again, he turned calmly and walked away, the woman still on his arm.

Once released from his gaze, Christine began breathing again as an invisible hand seemed to squeeze her throat. She tried to swallow around the enormous lump but it refused to lessen. She was vaguely aware of Meg taking her hand, but still she couldn't take her eyes off of Erik as, with his back to her, he continued speaking with others. She watched as the woman laughed at something he said and leaned in to place a light kiss on his unmasked cheek.

"Christine?" Meg asked for the third time.

Coming out of her fog, she looked at Meg. "I….He…." She couldn't make her vocal chords work around the lump. She tried once more, "She…." Shaking her head, she felt tears start at the corners of her eyes.

"Oh, Christine!" Meg said quietly. "You must be so hurt!" She retrieved a small handkerchief and gave it to her friend.

Christine nodded but still couldn't speak. Hurt? She was _destroyed_. She felt sick to her stomach as she watched the couple. He never looked back: never came near to her. And when she saw him lean close to the woman and place a kiss to her brow, something snapped in her and she spun on her heel and ran off the stage, through the cast and crew, and outside into the humid July night.

"Christine! Wait!" Meg called, running after her.

She stopped and collapsed on a bench. Meg came to sit next to her, unsure of what to say. Before she could gather her thoughts, a few of the other patrons came out so the men could have a cigar. They nodded to Christine, mentioning their appreciation for her performance. Their wives smiled and then sat down on a bench a few feet away.

"Did you _see_ them, though?" The one woman asked the other.

"My dear, I would have to be blind _not_ to! And not only tonight: at two other dinners Sarah hosted this week! They must be falling in love!"

"It's all so romantic, isn't it? I mean, he's brilliant and talented and she's beautiful and so lonely after her husband passed so suddenly. I mean, it's a shame he has to wear that mask, but honestly? I think it makes him dashing!"

"It's even more romantic than that!" The second woman insisted. "Have you heard why he left Paris?"

"No, why?"

"They say he was madly in love with a woman who wanted nothing to do with him because of his disfigurement. Can you believe it?"

"What? Well, you know those French women. Shallow to the core," the first woman passed judgment.

"True," the second agreed. "Well, I'm certainly glad for him that he's come to America. Here in New York, he can have his pick of society's elite, eligible women. To Hell with Paris and its ungrateful women!"

The two laughed and, at that, Christine jumped up as if stung by a bee. She ran then, crying, as fast as she could in order to get as far away as she could from the women, the party: everything.

* * *

Erik had been struggling to hold himself together. He knew she would be at the party and he knew they would see each other, but he hadn't been prepared for the intense emotional connection that had occurred and the equally intense physical reaction he'd had. He felt they had stared into each other's eyes for hours yet he knew it had only been a few moments. Telling Marie calmly and cooly it wasn't necessary to meet her understudy in person had been the most difficult thing he'd had to do since arriving in New York. While he had kept Genevieve on his arm, it had really been her keeping him standing. He owed her a great deal. She had positioned herself so that she could tell him what she was seeing on Christine's face as he kept himself turned away from her.

"You have certainly made an impact on her," Genevieve remarked quietly, smiling as though they were talking about anything else. "She is still standing in the same spot and her eyes are glued to us. Her little blonde friend is trying to talk to her, but I don't think she's hearing a word."

Erik nodded, not sure if he could trust his voice.

"Lean in towards me a bit," Genevieve commanded and he complied. She reached up and put a small, chaste kiss on his bare cheek. His eyes widened in surprise and he felt momentarily taken aback. No one had ever done that and he was still incredibly unused to any true human contact such as that.

"I hope you don't mind, Erik," Genevieve apologized. "But I promise you that struck home. She's just turned a brilliant shade of red."

"It's alright. I'm simply not used to anyone wishing to be affectionate with me, even in acting," Erik replied.

Genevieve placed her hand on his arm. "Oh, Erik. I am truly sorry for what you have suffered. I promise you that we'll win her. I swear it!"

Erik gave her a smile, small but genuine. "I appreciate everything you and your sister have been doing. Truly. I defer to you both in this."

Genevieve smiled. "Good. Then lean over and kiss me on my forehead. It will add a bit more fuel to the fire and give you a little practice at human contact."

Erik raised an eyebrow at that. "I can barely kiss a woman's hand!"

"I know. That's precisely why I'm telling you to do this now," she insisted, smiling more broadly.

Erik shook his head and awkwardly obliged, feeling supremely self-conscious.

"Well! That was definitely the icing on the cake, so to speak," Genevieve remarked. "She just bolted for the door with her friend following close behind."

He turned to see her fleeing form and felt his heart break a little. Had he caused that? "I should go to her."

Genevieve stayed him. "Follow her to make sure she's safe, but, Erik…. _don't_ let her know you're there! She _must_ stew a little while longer: feel the pain so she knows her heart once and for all." She saw the reluctance in his eyes and she took and squeezed his hands. " _Trust_ me."

He took a deep breath and nodded in agreement. "You're right. I won't reveal myself to her."

Genevieve smiled and bade him go, wishing not for the first time, that he felt for her even a fraction of the way he felt for Christine. Sighing, she finished her glass of wine and picked up another."

* * *

In Paris he had always possessed an innate ability to know where Christine was at all times. He didn't understand it except to believe it had been a sign she was meant to be his. He followed that extra sense now and discovered Christine on a bench with Meg. He arrived in time to see her jump up and run away and, staying in the shadows, found her in a small courtyard adjacent to the opera house. It was a quiet little garden with a small fountain in it, lit softly by a gas lamp. She was alone and holding her arms about herself tightly. He saw her small frame trembling violently and heard sobs escaping her as tears ran down her cheeks.

His heart constricted again as he was reminded of the young girl who he first heard crying in solitude at the Paris Opera House. He couldn't remain true to his promise to Genevieve. He _had_ to go to her! He took a step towards the edge where light met shadow and then stopped as he heard her begin to speak.

"What have I done? What have I become? Oh, Father! You would be so ashamed of me if you were still here. I ran away from Erik and then I ran away from Raoul. What kind of horrible person breaks so many hearts?" Christine said aloud, talking to her father like she used to do. She walked a few steps closer to the fountain, looking at the play of water from level to level.

"I deserve this. It's about time Fate caught up with me. It's only right that I should feel the way I made him feel. I hardly spared a thought for how he must have felt when I so shallowly rejected him. Now he wants nothing to do with me. What did I expect: for him to welcome me with open arms?" Here, she laughed humorlessly.

"I'm an idiot! The women were right; I'm a shallow, callous, idiot! How do I have the nerve to feel like a jilted lover when I rejected him first? I know _now_ how I feel; why did I think I could be the only one to feel this way about him? Why did I think I was the only one he could love?"

Erik was frozen where he stood in the shadows. She was saying things he had only ever dreamed she would say and yet he felt as though he couldn't trust his own ears. Sarah and Genevieve had been right. All Christine seemed to have needed was a jealous push and she was seeing things differently.

"I should have trusted my heart. Father, you told me the heart always understands things the head can't. You warned me not to listen to my head in matters of love. I didn't take your advice. I didn't recognize true love. It isn't always beautiful: at least not at the start. Now that I understand, it's too late." Here, Christine dissolved into tears again.

Erik took one step closer and saw Meg coming into the courtyard. He stayed to the shadows as she went to comfort her friend.

"Christine! I've been so worried! Are you alright?"

She shook her head. "No, Meg. I'm not."

Meg looked crestfallen. "Don't give up. That woman can't mean much to him. He's hardly been here long enough to be serious about anyone. Besides, the way you two stared at each other tonight? It gave me gooseflesh! It was like your souls were connected!"

"I didn't understand what I was feeling. I never realized what those reactions were. I regret my naivety so much, Meg! If I could only get one more chance," Christine trailed off, shivering.

"Let's go home, Christine. It's late and you'll feel better with a cup of tea. Things will look better in the morning," Meg urged, guiding her friend towards the street.

He was a dark shadow trailing them to their flat in order to make sure they arrived safely. Instead of going home once they were safely inside, Erik sat and watched the window of the room where he knew they slept. He spent roughly an hour thinking over everything he had overheard until he saw a dim light appear in the window and then shortly disappear again. It was a silly intimacy he allowed himself: thinking of how she looked while asleep. He had not entertained the hope of one day being able to share that intimacy with her in a long time. Tonight, he allowed hope to blossom.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

The final performance of _Faust_ went off without a hitch. As was tradition, there was a week off before initial tryouts and rehearsals for the new production began. This gave the cast and crew some much-needed time to relax after a grueling two and a half months. Some of the performers chose to sing at local cabarets in order to supplement their income while others traveled to one of the beaches in the vast city to spend their time relaxing in the sun. Meg wanted to do the latter, but wouldn't leave Christine, who wanted to stay and work on her audition for the new performance. So Meg and her mother spent time exploring their new home, traveling on the new elevated trains to see as much as they could.

On the days they went exploring, Christine would make her way to the opera house. There was always someone there who would let her in and she would have the auditorium and piano to herself. She practiced for hours each day in order to condition her voice. But she also stayed, hoping he might come to her. It was truly for this reason that Christine turned Meg and Sabine down each time they asked her to come with them. She believed he might come to her as he once did and she so desperately wanted that. But with Monday turning into Tuesday and then Wednesday, by Thursday she had lost hope. When she returned to their shared flat, Sabine decided to take action.

"Enough rehearsals, Christine. Meg and I are going to Coney Island tomorrow morning for the entire weekend. You must come as well."

Christine began to shake her head, but Meg burst in excitedly. "Oh, Christine! Mama has a friend who has invited us to stay at her home. It's right near the ocean! We can go to the beach during the day and walk the boardwalk at night! There's so much to see and do!"

"But I don't-" Christine began, but Sabine put her foot down.

"Christine, as your guardian, I insist. It would not be proper to allow you to stay here unchaperoned nor would I be comfortable with your safety. You have been working so hard. You need a few days to relax." Here, Sabine's firm tone softened a bit. "And if he hasn't come to see you these last several days, he's not likely to come now."

Christine looked sharply at Meg who looked down at her feet.

"Do not blame Meg, Christine. She has been beside herself with worry. I knew he was here. I heard the rumors as well and I was at the party the night he was there." Sabine saw the tears beginning to form in Christine's eyes and she sighed. "Dear, _dear_ child. You must hold on to hope. I've known Erik for many years. I would not say I know him well, but the way he acted in Paris with you and Raoul….I don't believe that was his true nature. He has had so little interaction with people. I blame his behavior on that. He lost control because of his jealousy: because he didn't know how to love you. You cannot blame yourself for acting the way you did. He was terrifying. But now….I can hardly believe the change that has overcome him. It appears America is far kinder than France and it agrees with him. I would _never_ have thought he would appear in public, much less in the company of a woman of society. I would not have believed it had I not seen it with my own eyes."

Christine winced and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. Meg took her hand in hers, offering comfort.

"Christine. He is here, in America. Not only that, he is in New York City and a patron of the opera. Do you think all of that happened by chance?" Sabine smiled warmly at her "adopted daughter".

Christine frowned and blinked. "What?"

"He did not just 'happen' to come here. He followed you here. He came to the opera because he knew you'd be there. He has come out in public because of _you_. It doesn't matter who he's seen with; he is doing all of this for you...to show you he has changed. Do you think his affection for you could have changed so quickly?" Sabine asked.

Christine was at a loss for words.

"I think he's waiting for _you_ to act. He tried the first time to pursue you and it didn't work. I think he's leaving it up to you this time. Come with us this weekend and allow the ocean and sun ease your troubled mind and heart."

Christine swallowed and nodded. "Yes."

* * *

The day had been spent in the sun on the sandy beach of Coney Island. They went swimming and enjoyed the refreshing water. In the late afternoon, they returned to Sabine's friend's home where they bathed and changed into dresses to go walking along the famous boardwalk. They stopped at the Manhattan Beach Hotel to listen to a band play in the outdoor area, passed by horse racing, and then paid a nickel to ride one of the carousels. Against her will, Christine began to enjoy herself. The musicians made riding the fake horses fun as the lights and colors made her a little dizzy. She had never been on one before. When they got off, Meg decided she was hungry and she pulled Christine towards the food stands.

They sat down on a bench and opened their feast: clams, popcorn, a fizzy drink called Coca-Cola, and a sandwich called a "hot dog". They enjoyed the strange food and played a few games and, as they walked along eating more popcorn, they came across a man dressed oddly in what looked like fox-hunting garb with a tall top hat.

"Ladies! You look like you're enjoying yourselves here! Is this your first time visiting the magical Coney Island?"

Meg giggled. "Yes!"

"Well then! No visit would be complete without seeing our famous freak show! For only ten cents you can feast your eyes on the Bearded Lady, the Snake Man, and the famous Man Monkey! And we have fire eaters and sword swallowers as well! What do you say?" He enticed.

"Christine! Let's go!" Meg said excitedly, digging for her ten cents.

Christine shook her head. "No, Meg. You go ahead. I'll wait here by the pier for you."

Meg pouted. "But why not? Don't you want to see all those odd people?"

Christine shook her head. "No. I wouldn't feel right. Not with-," she trailed off as she saw understanding in Meg's eyes. "But go ahead!"

"Are you sure?" Meg didn't want to desert her friend, but she _really_ wanted to see a man swallow fire.

"Yes. Go!"

As she watched her friend disappear through the gates of the freak show, Christine moved away out of the lights and noise and towards the beginning of the pier where it was quieter and she could hear the ocean surf and feel a cool, salty sea breeze caress her face. She leaned on the railing and watched as the moonlight played over the small waves and allowed herself to relax a little. She felt like she had been wound tight as a spring because she had been trying to put on a good show for Meg's sake. She didn't want to ruin her friend's fun, but she still couldn't stop thinking about Erik.

The music of the surf was comforting and she felt herself vaguely hypnotized by the constant ebb and flow of the waves. She thought of the first time she'd met Raoul on the beach as a child and how happy they had been as friends. Then she thought of their second meeting in Paris at the opera. She had been swept up in the magical romance of it all, but after everything had settled and the date of their wedding drew closer, Christine had realized it wasn't as magical as she had thought.

And that train of thought led her to Erik. She was so angry with herself for being so immature and naive. It was her fault that so much had happened: so much harm caused between them. If she'd harbored any doubts about her feelings, seeing him with that woman….and in public acting as though it were natural for him to socialize at a party….that had cleared all doubts from her mind and heart. And to just have him look at her…. She shivered but found it wasn't from the breeze.

A brief movement at the end of the pier caught her attention and she looked over towards the far end. There was a man standing there, looking out over the ocean. With the moon at this angle and his back towards her, he was nearly a total silhouette. A fish broke the surface of the silvery water and, as he turned to watch it, Christine saw the light of the moon illuminate the white mask he wore.

Her heart thudded wildly in her chest and she felt her stomach contract into a tight and knotted mess. He was there: alone. It was not a coincidence that in all of New York, he happened to be here at Coney Island where she was. She wanted to go to him, to throw herself into his arms, to tell him how foolish she'd been…. But he hadn't wanted to speak to her at the party: had turned away from her.

She wrung her hands, hating herself for not knowing how to act. Before she had formulated any real kind of plan, she found herself walking as quietly as a mouse out onto the pier where he stood. She harbored no illusions that he didn't know she was coming. The closer she got to him, the stronger the indescribable feeling she always had when in his presence became. And she knew he could feel it, too. She got to within ten feet of him when he turned around and met her eyes.

She stopped dead in her tracks, pinned by the intensity of his gaze. She was terrified that he could see her hammering heart through her dress and fought to try and calm it, but his continued stare made it impossible to gather her thoughts much less calm down. She took one, two, three steps closer and came to a trembling halt again. She was close enough to smell the exotic spice of his cologne and she breathed deeply, reveling in the mix of emotions she was feeling instead of cowering from them. It gave her an ounce of courage and, since he hadn't spoken yet, she did.

"You're here." It was simple and an understatement, but she wasn't yet sure what to expect.

He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. "An astute observation."

It didn't matter that his tone was sarcastic; the timbre of his baritone rolled over her and she felt a fire begin in her stomach.

"I saw you the other night at the opera. Were you pleased with my performance?" Inwardly, she berated herself. These were not the words she wanted to speak to him now that she had the chance.

He nodded. "You did well."

He wasn't making it easy for her! She needed him to say more so she could try to read him. This was a new Erik, one she didn't know how to approach: not angel, not jealous would-be lover, not teacher. An inner voice told her to tell him about Raoul: about how she'd realized her mistake, about how she wanted to feel the way she did when she was with him and not how she had felt with Raoul. Instead, she blurted out, "Who was the woman you were with?" She immediately winced. It did not go unnoticed.

His eyebrow raised again as he crossed his arms. "Genevieve is the sister of my friend, Sarah." His tone remained cool and his answer short, still giving Christine no opening for more conversation.

"You've made friends here rather quickly," she found herself saying. _What_ was she doing?!

He shrugged but offered no more.

Christine felt her chance slipping away. Before she could formulate anything more, he moved. He pushed himself off the railing he had been leaning against and stepped to her. She went still as a statue, waiting for him to take her in his arms, her pulse sounding loud in her ears. His eyes slipped to her mouth and she parted her lips. Oh, God….would he kiss her? He took another step towards her and she unwittingly closed her eyes and raised her face but then she felt him brush past her and she opened them again in confusion. She turned to watch him leave, walking towards an immobilized Meg at the beginning of the pier. He stopped to nod at her and then disappeared into the crowded night.

* * *

Erik was shaking so badly he had to stop once he was out of sight of the two young women. Staying aloof when she finally came to him willingly had taken every ounce of his willpower. The torture of having her so close that he could smell the beach on her was worse than any the Shah had ever concocted. And, as he went to leave, she had parted her lips, raised her head, and closed her eyes, thinking he was approaching for a kiss. He _knew_ that's what she'd expected. He'd wanted so desperately to take those ruby lips with his misshapen ones, but two things had stopped him: Genevieve and Sarah's plans and his lack of experience in the matter.

It had not prevented him from becoming nearly overwhelmed with desire. Even now that he'd removed himself from the situation, he still felt that ache for her that coursed through his body. He'd developed it nearly from the moment he'd heard her sing and it threatened to overwhelm him. He wasn't an idiot; he knew what his body's responses meant. But he had no experience to guide him in any of the physical aspects of love. He'd read extensively about every topic imaginable but had avoided this. Why bother? No woman would willingly submit to a man as deformed as he. At least that was what he'd thought. Now that he was seeing how Christine and, yes, other women were reacting to him, he realized he was at a terrible disadvantage on how to handle any physical aspect. After all, Christine's kisses months ago had so shocked him to his core that he'd been unable to do anything. He'd sent her away because he had been so profoundly moved he'd realized he couldn't give her what she might need.

Now….now he _had_ to understand more than just the mechanics of what happened between a man and a woman. He could not chance that, if Christine willingly came to him, his ineptitude could ruin everything. He could find books; he'd already seen some as he passingly glanced at the subject years before. He certainly couldn't ask Sarah or Genevieve their opinions! No. But perhaps Robert could help him understand.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

As the three women made their way back from their beach weekend retreat, Sabine noticed that Christine seemed withdrawn and more pensive than before they had come. She loved Christine as if she were her own daughter and it hurt her when Christine hurt. She knew it had to be Erik: but how to truly get Christine to willingly examine her heart? It was Meg who helped begin to unravel her thoughts and feelings.

"So last night I went to a sideshow while Christine waited for me. When I got out, I found her talking to someone," Meg started, looking only at her mother.

"Meg!" Christine hurriedly hushed, but Sabine took the opening it afforded her.

"It was Erik, wasn't it?" She asked.

Shooting Meg a look that said she'd get her for this later, Christine nodded her head.

"Did he come to you?" Sabine asked.

Christine shook her head. "No. I saw him on the pier and I went to him."

"What happened?"

Christine frowned at the memory. "Nothing. I tried talking to him but he barely answered me. And then he left." She left out the part about how she had foolishly thought he was going to kiss her. "I feel like I made a complete ass of myself. I don't know this Erik."

Sabine nodded. "I see."

Christine looked at her, confused. "What do you see?"

"I see what you have yet to see. Christine, you must examine your feelings. You have been moping around ever since your performance last week. Why?"

"Because he doesn't want to see me: to speak to me!" She answered.

"Hmmmmm," Sabine murmured. "And how does that make you feel that even though you stayed late at the theater, hoping he'd come to you, he didn't?"

"I guess I felt...I don't know. Confused. Sad," Christine replied.

"And how did you feel when you saw him with that woman?" Sabine held up her hand. "No. Don't answer simply, 'hurt'. Really think about the moment."

Christine did as she was bid and explained, "At first, I could hardly breathe. I felt like my stomach was a mess and I guess I was excited." Here, Christine smiled at the memory. "I was _glad_ to see him. But then I saw the woman and how he was acting with her. My throat grew tight and I felt sick to my stomach. And I saw her kiss his cheek and then he kissed her forehead…." Christine trailed off.

Sabine noticed her clenching and unclenching her hands. "And how did you feel about that?"

Christine looked at her in surprise. "Angry. I was so angry that she was with him. And when I spoke to him last night, I got angry again and asked him who she was."

Sabine smiled and Meg took her friend's hands. "Christine, you're jealous!" She remarked.

"What? I don't….I mean…." She was at a loss for words.

"So if you were jealous of this woman, what does that mean?" Sabine prodded gently.

Christine sat quietly thinking about the question. She had never felt jealousy before. There had been a few times when she and Raoul had dined out when other women would flirt with him because they couldn't believe she was to be his wife. She had felt uncomfortable because she hadn't believed she could fit in with his social circle. But she had never felt any anger: not like she had with this woman and Erik. No one knew his soul the way she did; how could they? _She_ was the piece that completed him. It was his music that showed his true identity but it was _her_ voice that released him from the prison society had created for him. Without her, he was only supposed to be half complete. This other woman couldn't be that other half for him! Only she could.

And then it dawned on her; if she completed him, then the same was true in reverse; he completed _her_. _That_ was why she hadn't felt right since leaving him that night in Paris. She needed him as much as he needed her. Raoul was nothing like Erik in every way, but _especially_ in this way. His kisses never made her feel the way that one kiss she and Erik had shared had. And she wanted that feeling now, as much as it had first terrified her. She had ruined so much between them. He had offered her his heart, trusting her to handle it with care, and she had tossed it away as though it were nothing more than rubbish. More than that, she had crushed it and torn it apart first. No wonder he had been so cool to her. What had she expected?!

"Christine? Are you okay?" Meg asked nervously after her friend had been so quiet for so long.

Christine took a deep, cleansing breath and looked at Meg. She smiled for the first time in a long time: truly smiled. "I am, Meg." She then looked at Sabine. "I love him." It was all she said. It was such a simple thing to say and yet it had been so difficult to realize and accept.

Sabine smiled at her. "You do." And now that you know what we've known for so long, what are you going to do?"

"Music is what first brought us together. It will again," Christine replied.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

The new production was announced to be _Romeo et Juliette_ and, with Marie leaving for Italy to study with a world-renowned opera teacher, Christine was eager to audition for the part of Juliette. The audition piece was Juliette's short "Dieu! Quel Frisson". Although she knew the piece inside and out from working on it with Erik in the past, she had a plan. She had a hunch that, though he had stayed away last week, with the auditioning for the new production, he'd be unable to stay away now.

Towards the end of the third day of preliminary notes and audition rehearsals, Christine knew he was there. She didn't see him, but she could _feel_ him: feel his eyes on her. And so she stayed late until everyone was gone and sat at the piano on stage, plucking out a few of the notes in the melody and humming a bit. When she felt certain he was there, just out of sight, she began singing the piece, purposely making the same, small mistake each time she ran over it. It was the third time she made the mistake that finally drew him out of the shadows backstage.

" _What_ are you doing to this piece?" He demanded, unable to maintain his patience any longer. He stepped towards her, frowning in irritation.

Christine looked up, trying to hide her excitement at having his attention. She was desperate to tell him everything: how she had finally realized she loved him and never should have gone to Raoul. But she knew she had a lot to atone for right now and baby steps would be needed in order to win his trust once more.

"You know I had problems with it before. As short as it is, it's difficult," she replied, her voice shaking a bit in anticipation of him coming closer.

"That's absurd! We worked it out months ago. You sang it flawlessly for me several times," he countered, still standing at the edge of the shadows.

She had to draw him closer. "I can't seem to remember this one spot, 'Oh Love! Revive my fond devotion.' It's still so awkward," she commented. "Will you show me?" At that, Christine slid to the end of the piano bench to make room for him, beckoning to the keyboard.

He hesitated for a moment, knowing how difficult it would be to be that close to her and still refrain from touching her, confessing to her that Genevieve meant nothing and it was only Christine, _ever_ Christine, who was always in his thoughts. But….that peerless instrument of hers had gone untutored for too long and she had gotten sloppy with her exercises. He could _not_ allow that. Huffing in annoyance, he came to the piano and sat next to her. Their shoulders touched as he took command of the keyboard and accompanied his voice as he correctly sang the lines Christine had purposely flubbed.

As soon as he sat near her, Christine felt her heart begin to pound. She closed her eyes as his amazing baritone wrapped around her, seducing her with its velvety tone. Where before she had been scared of how his voice affected her, now she reveled in the heat it brought to her chest. As it spread downward, Christine leaned in closer to him, his scent of sandalwood and patchouli acting like an aphrodisiac on her.

Erik's voice had gone hoarse as she leaned closer to him. She smelled of lavender and her familiarity with him was something new and disconcerting. Where was the girl who used to shrink at his touch? And suddenly, this new woman next to him placed her head on his shoulder and he found himself barely able to continue playing the piece.

Christine reveled in her new found courage and could hear Erik's breathing become ragged at her touch. She had always been fascinated by his hands: long, slender fingers that commanded such magic from any instrument he touched. And then, her thoughts slipped to what magic those hands could create if they touched her. Her face flamed a brilliant red and she was shocked by the sudden image her mind conjured of him touching her face, throat, breasts. Her body was on fire just thinking about it and subconsciously she inched closer so that now their legs touched as well.

That was all Erik could stand. His body had a mind of its own and was responding in ways he was totally unprepared for. Having her sitting this close to him, willingly allowing their bodies to touch….he didn't trust himself not to lose control and take her for his own right there on stage. And that was when he realized she had orchestrated this entire scene. She could sing the piece; they both knew it. Somewhere along the way, his Christine had found a side of herself he had not known she possessed. She was trying to entice him. But he couldn't allow it to be that easy: not after what he had been through. Taking a deep breath, he stood up and moved away from her, missing their physical contact immediately.

"Now that you heard the correct way, sing it for me," he commanded, barely keeping his voice from shaking.

Christine felt as though she had been ripped from a dream when he stood up. Her disappointment showed on her face but when she stood up to comply with his direction, she saw the look on _his_ face. He was _not_ an easy person to read, but she had been with him long enough to recognize some of his moods and emotions. She had only seen this look once before and that had been when they had just finished singing the duet from _Don Juan Triumphant_. And with that recognition came the knowledge that she still affected him and he still desired her. She stood up straight and smiled as she caught and held his gaze while singing the audition piece flawlessly.

At the end of her song, Erik cleared his throat. Her singing always affected him but this new, bold side of her was nearly more than he could handle; and it intrigued him. Getting a firm hold of himself, he put his teacher mask back in place.

"That was better. You would do well to run through your vocal exercises before tomorrow's audition. They will help loosen you up more so that you can perform better. Do not overshoot that high C." They both knew those words were unnecessary, but it gave Erik his power back in a situation that he'd lost control of nearly immediately. He turned to leave.

Christine was desperate to keep him there. She had finally made progress and wanted more time. "I'm not sure about one other part…."

Erik stopped and turned back for a moment. "Then you should rehearse a while longer." He saw the disappointment on her face and was again amazed at her transformation. Not wanting to be the one responsible for disappointing her, he added, "I will listen to your audition tomorrow." The smile that blossomed on her face was what he took with him as he turned and left.

As he disappeared from sight, Christine sat back down on the piano bench. She couldn't help the smile that was still there: and it grew larger as she remembered the feel of his body next to hers. She turned her head to her shoulder and could still smell his cologne there where they had touched. She thought again of his powerful hands and relished the odd feeling that erupted in her stomach, sending shockwaves down low. She was frustrated that he had left, but she knew now that things were on the right track. Christine only had to keep them there.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

As promised, Erik arrived early the next day for auditions. He selected a seat far in the back of the theater so as to be as unobtrusive as possible. He was joined by Sarah who had run into him that morning and was interested in seeing the auditions herself. At least that was what she had told Erik. She hadn't had much of a chance to hear his side of things since the party the previous week and was curious to hear what had transpired since then.

Keeping her voice low while auditions for smaller parts took place, Sarah asked, "So….I understand you took a trip to Coney Island."

Erik looked at her raising one eyebrow. "I did." He left the question unspoken.

"Robert told me. He said you'd run into Christine there. Care to share what happened?" Sarah clarified.

Erik had spoken to Robert about his concerns but knew he wouldn't have shared that information with Sarah. He had listened to Robert's advice and had collected several books on the subject which he had been pouring over in the evenings. While that was helpful in the physical aspect, perhaps Sarah could shed light on the mental and emotional questions he had.

"I took your advice and put myself in a position where she could choose to come to me."

"And did she?"

He couldn't help but allow a very small smile. "She did."

Sarah's eyes lit up. "I knew it! I knew she would! What happened?"

"She asked me who Genevieve is."

Sarah laughed and then quickly covered her mouth, hoping she hadn't disturbed auditions. "She's jealous! I told you, the quickest way to a woman's heart is to make her see what she's missing. How did you react?"

"I saw little Meg waiting for her at the end of the pier so I went to leave. I think she believed I was going to kiss her. She closed her eyes and raised her head to me as I walked by."

Sarah stifled a giggle. "Oh, no! That had to be humiliating for her."

"I find it increasingly difficult to stay away from her. I knew she'd stay late last night to work on her audition piece and so I stayed back as well. She made a mess of the piece and I couldn't resist correcting her. However, I came to realize that she did it on purpose in order to draw me out. I think….I think she was playing the coquette with me," Erik stumbled over the words. "She has only ever been afraid of me and even refused me the touch of her hand without shivering in disgust. Last night, she placed her head on my shoulder."

Sarah took a moment to process everything he'd said. "You say she used to shiver in disgust; are you sure?"

He looked at her. "Of course. Why else would she react like that?"

"Oh, Erik! When she touched you last night, how did you react?"

"I would rather not speak of that with you, Sarah. I have too much respect for you," he answered, clearly uncomfortable.

She nodded. "Exactly. Erik, you _do_ realize that men aren't the only ones who feel things like that, right? I believe what you mistakenly took for disgust was actually desire. She's young; she herself probably didn't understand what she was experiencing. But it appears she does now if what you say about last night is true. But that's just it; she's young and inexperienced. You told me she lost her mother when she was just a child and was raised by her father. She would not have learned of love and desire from him. She needed to sort all of that out for herself, just as you did."

Erik pondered this for a moment. "Do you honestly think so? I find myself at such a loss as to understanding any of this. It's maddening!"

Sarah rested her hand on his arm, offering him support. "Oh, Erik. You are as much a virgin as she. Do you think you could handle your heart being broken again if she changes her mind?"

Before he could respond, Christine's name was called for her turn at auditioning. She took her place on stage and, while waiting for her intro to conclude, she could be seen scanning the theater. Her eyes alighted on Erik's figure in the back and she moved all the way downstage in order to be as close as possible to him. Her eyes locked with his and she poured every ounce of her soul into the song she sang. There was no doubt in Meg's, Sarah's, or Erik's minds that she sang only for him. Where others had been cut short after a few measures, the musical director allowed Christine to finish the piece. As Juliette took the potion at the end of the song and Christine's voice faded away, there was silence in the theater for several seconds except for quite a few gasps as though people had forgotten to breathe while she sang.

In that timeless moment before everyone erupted in applause, cheers, and whistles, Erik felt stripped of every doubt as she stared in his direction, a beautiful vision in the lights of the stage. His heart constricted at both her beauty and the beauty of her voice and he, too, gasped. As everyone surrounded her and she was lost from sight in congratulatory hugs, Sarah wiped tears from her eyes and took Erik's arm, offering a hug of sorts. "Go to her this evening."

He nodded in agreement.

* * *

Rehearsals for the day had wrapped up when Meg finally found Christine wandering alone on stage. She was scanning the theater and looked ready to head down amongst the seats before she spotted Meg.

"Christine! I've been looking all over for you! Are you ready to go? I thought maybe we could buy sandwiches and sit in the park for a little while. It's really a perfect evening for it: not too sticky with a light breeze. Who knows how many more days of…." Here Meg trailed off, realizing Christine wasn't listening. "Christine!" She exclaimed in frustration.

She turned and looked at Meg. "I'm sorry. I wasn't paying attention. Meg, he _has_ to come to me this evening. I'm sure he's here somewhere!" At this, Christine went to the other end of the stage, looking out to the darkest corners of the theater.

"Christine," Meg began, taking her friend by the hand. "I'm sure he's pleased with your audition and will come find you when he's ready. Don't you think he knows where you are….where you _always_ are? Why stay here when we can go to the park? He doesn't haunt the theater. He has rooms somewhere."

Christine stopped and looked at her friend. "You're right. I'm so stupid sometimes. Of _course_ he doesn't live here. I'll get my things and we can go." She and Meg turned to go backstage but a voice from the side of the theater halted them both.

"Christine!"

She spun around and Meg gasped, stepping back. He came up on stage in one leap from the pit area and wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace.

"My God! I've been worried nearly out of my mind searching for you!" Raoul exclaimed, holding her at arm's length after kissing her, failing to see her squirm. "Why, Christine? Why did you run away?"

Christine's eyes were wide as she tried to extricate herself from his arms. "Raoul! I….how did you find me?"

"It wasn't easy. I had to pay several people off at the docks before I discovered you'd indeed set sail away from France. But America, Christine? And New York? Of all the godless places on this earth…," he began.

"Raoul, you shouldn't have followed. I left because I couldn't marry you," Christine began, but quickly became aware of the small audience of cleaners and stage crew that were doing their best to look like they weren't listening to the drama playing out directly in front of them in real life.

"Don't be ridiculous! It's just wedding jitters. Every bride has them," Raoul said, reaching for her hand. "You're my fiancee!"

Christine took the opportunity to pull him farther backstage and out of the hearing of everyone if not exactly out of sight.

Meg swallowed hard as she watched their exchange grow heated and then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement in the first row. Looking out, she saw him come from the shadows to stand at the steps leading up to the stage, his eyes glued on the couple backstage. The white of his mask caught the stage light for a moment as he turned briefly to meet Meg's gaze. It lasted only a moment as Raoul suddenly went down on his knees in front of Christine as she took his hands in hers. His back was turned to them, but they both saw the flash of a diamond ring as he put it in her hands. Christine said something neither could hear and then Raoul stood back up and took her into his embrace.

The strangled sound that reached Meg's ears made her turn and look out into the audience. Helplessly, she watched as he grabbed onto the back of a seat and gasped, then spun around and disappeared through the side entrance. Her first impulse was to follow and do something, but her loyalty lie with Christine. She turned back to the scene unfolding on stage in time to see Roul chastely kiss Christine on the cheek and, looking miserable, turn and leave. Meg frowned in confusion as she watched him leave, then turned to her friend as she approached.

"That was one of the most difficult things I've ever had to do," Christine said quietly, wiping the few tears away at the corner of her eyes.

"I don't understand," Meg said simply. "I saw him give you the ring and you kept it."

"I told him I didn't feel right keeping it but he said I should sell it to help me financially."

"What did you tell him?"

Christine sighed deeply. "The truth. I told him that we weren't the same people we were as children….that we didn't know each other any more. I can't give up my singing and as Vicomtesse, I would never be allowed to perform. It's scandalous enough that he wanted to marry an opera singer. And….and I told him I couldn't love him the way he wanted me to."

Meg's mouth hung open. "Oh, Christine! It didn't look that way from here at all! It looked like you'd accepted his ring again in marriage!"

Christine smiled sadly. "Looks can be deceiving. I assure you, Meg; we're through."

Meg shook her head urgently. "But he doesn't know that!"

Christine frowned. "Yes, he does. I told him myself."

"No! Not Raoul! The Phan-Erik!" Meg caught herself.

"What are you talking about, Meg?" Christine asked, beginning to become alarmed.

"He was here! After you pulled Raoul backstage for privacy, he came to the stage. He must have been in the theater like you said. We watched you two talking but we couldn't hear anything you said. When you took the ring and Raoul embraced you, it looked like you were getting back together. He thought the same thing because he looked like someone had just punched him and he left!" Meg tried to explain.

"No….," Christine whispered. "No! Not after everything I've tried to do! Erik!" Christine had turned white and ran across the stage and down and out into the theater, calling his name now though she had never once spoken it to him. She felt like she was in a horrible whirlwind of a dream. She ran calling his name over and over, from the theater, out into the lobby, and even outside: to no avail. Her throat began to constrict and tears began welling up into her eyes. She was devastated. How could she begin to rectify this when she could barely get him to come her? She didn't even know where to find him. She collapsed on the steps of the opera, crying uncontrollably.

And that was where Sabine and Meg found her a few minutes later. Sabine had been speaking with the choreographer when she heard Christine calling Erik's name. She rushed down from the offices to see Meg hurrying behind Christine and together they had come looking for her. Now, they sat on the ground on either side of Christine and Sabine pulled her into an embrace.

"There, there. Shhh, Christine. Take deep breaths." Sabine rocked her like a child, getting her to calm down.

"He doesn't understand!" Christine stuttered, still crying. "He thinks I love Raoul but it's not true! How am I going to find him?"

Sabine frowned her question over Christine's head at her daughter.

"The Vicomte showed up here a little while ago. He was making a scene so Christine led him backstage for some privacy. From where I stood, it looked like he had given her the engagement ring back and she accepted it. The Phantom was there, too, and saw what I had seen. He definitely thought the same thing I did because when Raoul hugged her, he turned and left immediately," Meg filled in for Christine.

Sabine nodded. "I see. And what actually happened?"

Christine pulled herself away, using the handkerchief Sabine gave her to dry her eyes. "I told Raoul I didn't love him and couldn't marry him. He insisted I take the ring and sell it. Then he gave me a hug good-bye."

"Then do not worry, chere. I will find Erik. It's a misunderstanding that can be easily corrected."

"But what if he leaves?" Christine worried.

Sabine smiled. "He won't leave. He is as connected to you as you are to him. I will find where he's staying. It won't be hard. And I will get through to him." She looked up at Meg. "Why don't you both go to the park? I know how much Christine loves the little lake there. I'll find you there." She gave Christine a peck on the cheek and smiled at her. "Everything will be alright."

Christine swallowed and nodded and the three women stood up, brushing their dresses off. Sabine watched as the two young women walked slowly away and then she took a breath. "Right. Now, for the hard part."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

The Phillips Club was a short walk from the opera house and Sabine knew Erik was staying there from listening to the managers talk. She was able to walk inside easily enough, but at the front desk, she hit a wall.

"I'm sorry, Madam. Mr. Leroux left instructions that he didn't want to be disturbed and is refusing all visitors," the silver-haired manager replied to her inquiries.

"I understand. But he and I are old, old friends and I have news of the utmost importance for him. I simply must see him," she insisted.

"I can offer to deliver a message to him but I cannot allow him to be disturbed."

"But I _must_ speak with him! If you would just tell him I'm here, I'm sure he would want to see me," she tried again.

"What's the problem, Frank?" Sarah asked, noticing the situation as she came in the front door.

"Ah, Mrs. Brokaw. Good evening. It's just that Mr. Leroux is not seeing any visitors and Mrs. Giry here won't seem to take no for an answer," he replied, looking hopefully at her for some feminine intervention.

"Mrs. Giry? The assistant ballet director at the Met?" Sarah remembered.

"Yes, I am she."

"Your daughter is friends with our new soprano, is she not?"

Sabine nodded.

"It's alright, Frank. Mrs. Giry and I need to speak in private. We'll be in the lounge," Sarah made a decision quickly.

"Of course, Mrs. Brokaw. Would you like Charles to attend you?" He asked.

Sarah nodded. "Yes. Tell him I think some wine would be splendid."

"As you wish."

As the two women walked away from the front desk and to the study, Sarah motioned for Sabine to sit with her on the couch in front of the large bay window.

"I'm sorry if Frank appeared rude. He's a good man but has lost a bit of his softer side since his wife passed away two years ago," Sarah apologized. "My name is Sarah, by the way. I recognized your name because of your daughter. I understand you come from the Paris Opera, correct?"

"Yes. My daughter is a ballerina as was Christine before she was discovered," Sabine offered cautiously. She knew this woman was one of the wealthy patrons but wasn't sure of more beyond that.

A young man appeared with two glasses and a bottle on a tray. "Mrs. Brokaw….Madam," he said in way of greeting the two, handing them each a glass and leaving the bottle on the table nearby.

"Perfect! A Beaujolais!" Sarah raised her glass. "To new friends."

Sabine raised her eyebrow along with her glass. "Indeed."

After taking a sip, Sarah sat back, glass in hand. "I think we can both be candid. My husband and I have come to respect Erik quite highly in the time he's been here. He's told me a great deal about Paris and your daughter's friend. I was with him earlier today when she sang her audition piece. I saw how moved he was. He loves her desperately but doesn't know what to do. He told me she fled her engagement to a Vicomte in France and that Erik followed her here. My sister and I have been helping as much as we can and I thought, after the rehearsals today, he was going to speak to Christine." Sarah took another sip of her wine before continuing. "Your presence here this evening seems to indicate something went wrong."

Sabine believed herself to be an excellent judge of character. She quickly made up her mind about Sarah and then settled back on the couch as well. "I've known Erik for nearly ten years. He came to the opera in Paris when he was thirty-seven. He helped design it, did he tell you that?"

Sarah nodded.

"He's a genius….a prodigy. There is nothing he cannot do: except understand love. From the time he was a child, no one showed him love. His mother reviled him, forcing him to wear a mask in her presence. She sold him to a traveling band of gypsies."

Sarah's eyes widened as she gasped, " _Sold_ him? Her _son_?!"

Sabine nodded. "They showed him off as the Devil's Child, but treated him decently enough. He learned much about herbal medicine from them and left when he was fourteen. He traveled to Milan where he was able to study and apprentice with Camillo Boito for architecture and even received an education in art from him. After his time there, he traveled to Persia where the Shah employed him as his royal architect. He was there for several years and, when he wanted to leave, the Shah imprisoned and tortured him. He bears the scars to this day," Sabine trailed off, sipping her wine.

"My God," was all Sarah could say.

Sabine nodded. "When he came to Paris, we met and I promised to keep his secret. He had built a home deep in the lower catacombs under the opera while seeing to the work above. He was tired of humanity and planned to finish his days in solitude with his music and books. But then Fate brought young Christine to his doorstep.

"Her father was a violinist in the orchestra for just a year when he died of consumption. Christine's mother had died years earlier so there she was, fifteen and all alone. My daughter and she had become friends and I could not allow her to be tossed onto the street, so I gave her a spot in the corps de ballet so she could have a place to stay in the dormitory. She and Erik knew nothing of each other for several years until one day he heard her singing alone in the small chapel at the opera. Her voice drew him out of his brooding and awakened him. I had never seen that side of him before. Her voice inspired him but he was terrified to reveal himself to her. He spent months teaching her without ever allowing her to see him. And that was his first mistake."

"Why?" Sarah asked, refilling their glasses.

Sabine sighed. "She thought he was the Angel of Music sent by her father. He allowed her to think it and continued to teach her. He had planned on revealing the truth to her but because the Vicomte suddenly showed up, he felt forced to do things more quickly than he had planned. He made mistakes and scared her, which sent her right into the young, handsome Vicomte's arms. And that's when Erik's jealousy exploded." She paused, unwilling to speak of everything he'd done. She left it at, "He did things he shouldn't have: turned into someone I no longer knew because he'd been so hurt. He never knew love. He still doesn't."

Sarah sat quietly, absorbing everything she'd heard. "And Christine is young and unsure of what love is, too."

Sabine nodded. "Although, I think she has finally begun to learn. Tonight the Vicomte found her at the theater. Meg tells me there was quite a scene that looked like she had taken him back. Christine actually sent him away but it didn't look that way."

"And Erik saw this scene and misunderstood," Sarah finished.

"Precisely."

Sarah nodded. "Mrs. Giry…."

"Please. My name is Sabine. Forgive my rudeness in not mentioning it earlier."

Sarah smiled warmly. "Of course. Sabine, Erik means a great deal to me: probably because my husband is also disfigured so I can sympathize with his trust issues. I so want to see him happy. Tell me, honestly; is Christine truly aware of her feelings and where they lie?"

"I won't pretend it hasn't been difficult helping her work through her feelings. But if you could hear her speak of how she feels when she is simply in his presence, you would not doubt her."

"Then I believe it's time these two fledgling lovers received a push in the right direction. Where is Christine now?" Sarah asked, pouring the last of the bottle into their glasses.

"She is with Meg in the park. She often sits under a willow tree at the edge of the small lake near the entrance by the opera house."

"I know the spot. Keep Christine there. I'll bring Erik to her," Sarah said, downing her glass.

Sabine raised an eyebrow. "That will not be easy in the mood I am certain he is in."

"My dear Sabine, love is never as easy as it should be. That's why they have us!"


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

It took several knocks and a few pleas to get Erik to finally open his door to her, but open it he did. To say his mood was foul and his expression stormy was the understatement of the year. Sarah decided her best course of action was to pretend she didn't notice and tell a half-truth.

"Erik, I'm so sorry to disturb you but I need your assistance. Robert is out of town and I simply must drop off something for my friend Marion to eat. She's taken ill and I promised to stop by. Would you please escort me?"

"I don't feel that I am appropriate company for you right now," he ground out between clenched teeth, holding his hands tightly behind his back.

"It's perfectly fine, Erik. You don't have to chat with me. But by the time I get to her home, coming back it will be getting dark and I don't like walking alone in the evening. Please escort me?" She persisted, smiling gently.

"Why not have Frank order you a cab?" He asked, still short and unwilling.

"Oh that would be silly! She's only a few blocks away. I promise not to go in and chat. I simply want to drop off a meal. Please?" She gently touched his arm.

Erik was engaged in an internal battle that Sarah could never guess at. He was destroyed by the image of the Vicomte embracing Christine, enraged to the point where he'd had to exercise considerable restraint in order not to lay waste to everything in sight, and conflicted by his sense of duty and obligation he felt to Sarah and her husband. He looked at her standing there with her innocent request and huffed. He turned away to retrieve is suit coat and opened the door for her without a word, hoping his expression would prevent any further attempts at conversation.

Sarah smiled broadly once her back was to him. Getting him to come with her had been the hardest part of her half of the plan. Now she had to hope Sabine had kept Christine in place.

* * *

As they left a very confused Marion ("Who told you I was ill?"), Sarah took Erik's arm and slowed him down a bit on their walk. "I'm positive I saw some roses blooming in the park near here. I just want to stop and collect a few blooms."

"Sarah, I am certainly _not_ in the mood to attend your gardening efforts," Erik said, losing his patience.

"It will take me five minutes! Besides, the park is lovely and maybe it will calm you down a bit. You certainly are in a mood this evening!" She returned, pretending not to notice just how truly angry he was. She gave him no chance to disagree and gently steered him onto the path into the park.

He was in no mood to speak and so he allowed her to lead him inside the confines of the park. She left his side to look for her roses and he stood off to the side, watching as lovers passed hand in hand. He felt jealousy burn again. Why? Why was he denied the one thing he had only ever wanted, ever craved? He had done monstrous things in his life but he had atoned for them. He no longer believed in a God, but he did believe in the Hindu idea of karma. The universe had punished him enough….surely! He had tried to ignore his unreasonable desire for love. He had art, books, music, architecture; he didn't need love as well. But he realized now that life without love was just existence. He wanted more. He wanted to walk hand in hand with someone who loved him and he wanted that someone to be Christine: only ever Christine.

He was lost in his thoughts until he felt a small hand slip into his. Surprised, he looked down to find Meg holding it.

She swallowed hard, fear in her eyes, but resolution as well. "We didn't see what we thought we did." She frowned, realizing that she wasn't making sense. Taking a deep, quivering breath, she tried again. "What I mean is that Christine didn't take the Vicomte back. She turned him down. You left before it happened."

Erik didn't respond to her verbally but he frowned in disbelief.

"No, really! I swear I thought the same thing but right after you left, Raoul did, too. And Christine told me she'd turned him down but he told her to keep the ring and sell it," Meg insisted, beginning to gently tug on his hand, urging him to follow her.

He allowed Meg to lead him towards the lake and, when she stopped, he saw Christine sitting underneath a willow tree with her knees gathered up and her chin resting on them. She was looking out across the lake, unaware of his presence. He saw her body trembling as though cold and he felt his anger drain away. Meg quietly released his hand and left the way they had come in order to give them privacy. Silently he removed his jacket and, in one swift yet gentle movement, he placed it around Christine's shoulders and sat down next to her upon the blanket on which she sat. He didn't know what to say and had discovered in times like these, if he remained silent, she would feel the need to speak. He preferred when she spoke because it gave him a chance to decipher her thoughts and feelings. He kept his gaze straight ahead out onto the lake because she did as well, but he made sidelong glances at her. He couldn't help himself. To be this close to her in an almost intimate setting was overwhelming. He took in a deep breath, savoring the scent of roses nearby that mixed with the lavender in her hair.

Christine had gone still as a statue when he sat next to her. He was here, next to her: had put his jacket around her! She wanted to pour her heart out to him, wanted to hug him, wanted to kiss him, wanted to pretend that all the ugliness of their relationship had never happened; but her voice caught in her throat because of the lump that sat there. His arm was nearly brushing hers, he was so close. And to have his jacket over her, his scent and warmth surround and comfort her after she thought she'd driven him away….it was all too much for her to absorb and process. And so, with no way to communicate her utter sorrow and guilt for her treatment of him, she began to cry.

He knew immediately she was distraught. At the worst of times that he'd seen her in, he had never seen her cry: not a tear. Now, they streamed down her cheeks unchecked, drenching the neckline of her dress and his jacket. He was totally unprepared to deal with this. Hatred and revilement? Yes. Fear and disgust? He knew them well. A woman's tears? He shifted ever so slightly. Should he touch her? Rest his hand on her arm as Sarah often did to him? Could he put his arm around her? Should he say something? At a complete loss, he reached into his pocket and retrieved a handkerchief which he handed to her.

"I'm sorry," Christine hiccupped between sobs.

He remained silent, trying to decipher what she was sorry for.

"I have no right to expect anything of you. I've done nothing but bring you pain and sorrow. From the moment you first showed yourself to me, I've made terrible mistake after mistake. You must think the worst of me….and you are right to do so." Here she paused, dabbing at her eyes. Taking a deep, shaky breath, she continued.

"The angel who spoke to me and who taught me? I fell in love with him. When I thought he was untouchable and ethereal, I yearned for him to appear to me so I could show him that love. And then, when he did show himself, I faltered and fled instead. I wasn't strong enough and temptation appeared in the form of a young man I had once known.

"It was easy for me to believe Raoul was the right choice. He was bright like the sun and came charging in like a knight to save the damsel fair. Imagine the story: the chorus girl who became a Vicomtesse. It seemed all so romantic at the time and I was so afraid of you….how you made me feel."

Erik bowed his head. He had never wanted to frighten her. "I am sorry for that," he said simply.

Christine shook her head and laughed humorlessly. "I'm the one who is sorry. I had no idea what those feelings meant until recently. What I did know was that I was becoming tormented by my choice. As the wedding drew nearer, I found my life slipping out of my control. Things felt wrong with Raoul. I would tremble at the sound of my angel's voice but never Raoul's. And Meg and her mother spoke to me of what passion feels like and I realized I did not feel that with him. Even when he kissed me, there was nothing. But when I kissed you that night…." She trailed off, mortified by speaking so openly of her feelings to him. She felt him turn to look at her, but she couldn't bring herself to do the same. She was fast losing her nerve but she knew she'd never have this chance again. If she didn't push herself to reveal everything….take that chance….this moment would pass and so would her chance at true happiness. Finding a reserve of courage she hadn't realized she'd had, she pressed on.

"All I know is that I am not afraid to feel that way any more. I realize now that everything I ran from is how it's _supposed_ to feel between a man and a woman. Raoul never made me tremble when he kissed me. I never felt my stomach tie up into a thousand knots when he was near me. And in all this time here in America, I never once thought about him: only you. And now that I've finally realized all of this, it's too late," she finished.

Erik found himself stunned, elated, scared, and confused all at once. Christine…. _his_ Christine was saying what he had only ever dreamt of her saying to him. Was this a cruel dream? Was this yet another trick of fate to get him to let his guard down? He realized she wasn't speaking any more but was beginning to silently cry fresh tears. He caught on to her last words and managed to ask, "Too late?"

Christine nodded. "Genevieve."

Had she not been crying and so serious with her answer, Erik would have laughed. As it was, he simply sighed. She still had no idea how much of his life was dependent upon her. But he needed to hear her speak: needed to hear her own choice in all of this before he would let his defenses down again.

"Christine….what do you want?"

At that, she finally turned and looked at him: truly looked at him. She didn't see his mask; she felt as though she was gazing into his soul. And for the first time, she saw him pure and whole: only a man and not some phantom or angel. And she felt her heart constrict at the thought of losing him to another woman. "I don't know what you're thinking. I don't know what she means to you or what-"

Erik shook his head and interrupted her. "No: not what I want or what the Vicomte wants. What do _you_ want?"

It was simply asked and it could be simply answered. Christine's eyes searched his, seeing the pain she had caused him piled on top of all the other pain he had suffered in his lifetime and her heart broke. He was once again offering his bloody and battered heart to her. And his gaze didn't instill fear in her; it spoke of hope. Her eyes slipped to his misshapen mouth and suddenly her heart began to race. To feel his lips pressed to hers again….the unusual texture….to get them to open to her…. She felt the heat building in her stomach and she knew she had to be the one to close the small yet hugely significant distance between them. She glanced up to his eyes and saw the confusion building in them. When his mouth parted to speak, Christine closed her eyes and pressed her lips to his.

One moment he was struggling to puzzle out her response and the next, he found himself shot through to his core with the same intense reaction he had experienced the first time she had kissed him. He couldn't move, couldn't think: could only pray to any god that would hear him that this was real and not a dream. His mouth had been open to speak a question and now, not only had her lips pressed against his, he felt her tiny pointed tongue slip inside of his mouth. Desire, in waves so strong he nearly crumbled, hit him from head to toe. And then a sound like a small explosion….and pain, searing pain, ripped through him. He felt Christine jerk away and saw the shock on her face. He felt wetness on his right side and, when he brought his hand up between them after touching it, he heard her scream as they both looked at the blood covering it.

"I _knew_ it! I _knew_ from the moment you refused me that this hell-spawned demon was back and controlling you!" Raoul exclaimed as he began to slowly walk closer to them from where he stood several yards away, a revolver in his hand.

Christine stared in shocked horror, looking at an ugly side of Raoul she had never seen before. The look in his eyes as he stared at Erik in such hatred chilled her to the bone.

"There is no way any woman could or would go with you willingly. Look at you: hideous and horrible!" Raoul continued. "And here you are, parading around in public like you're not some freak. Only America could condone that."

Erik staggered to his feet, holding his side in pain, but unwilling to allow the crazed man any closer to Christine. "She's made her choice, Vicomte. You need to step away as I once did," he ground out between clenched teeth.

"You! How _dare_ you speak to me like that! You've controlled her long enough. You're the one who probably led her to this God-forsaken hell-hole. It suits you. I should have killed you months ago. That was an error in my judgment because I allowed Christine to stay my hand." Raoul raised his gun at Erik. "That won't happen again."

It was suddenly all too clear to Christine. Everything that had gone wrong, every mistake that had been made, stemmed from Raoul and his inability to listen to her. In a moment, scenes flashed before Christine's eyes: his appearance after her gala premiere, his refusal to take no for an answer, his refusal to believe her about Erik, his anger at keeping their engagement secret, his insistence against her pleas to not make her part of the trap to ensnare Erik during _Don Juan_ , his refusal to believe she cared for him, and now his refusal to believe Christine could love Erik over him. Nearly all of the pain and heartache between her and Erik was the direct result of Raoul's interference and refusal to be "bested" by someone who looked like Erik. She looked at Erik standing between her and Raoul, trying to shield her while blood continued to soak his clothes and drip onto the ground. She looked at Raoul as he raised the gun at Erik. And something inside of her snapped.

"Stop it!" She screamed, jumping up and launching herself past Erik and into Raoul. Though she was a small woman, her sheer force and the element of surprise were enough to tackle Raoul to the ground. His gun went flying out of his hand and then Christine was straddling him, screaming and beating at him, clawing and scratching like a wild thing and his face became bloodied from the attack.

People swarmed the area and men lunged for Raoul, grabbing him and holding him as strong arms went around Christine and pulled her off of him.

"No! Let me go!" She screamed, fighting like a demon at the arms pinning her. "Erik! He's hurt! Erik!" She screamed, uncomprehending anything. "Let me go!"

"Christine! Stop!" Erik commanded as he turned her around in his arms. She stopped struggling when she realized it was him. Immediately, concern replaced wild anger.

"He shot you!" It was all she could manage, beginning to shake uncontrollably.

"Yes, but apparently he has terrible aim. The bullet seems to have grazed my rib. It's not as bad as it looks," Erik replied, still holding on to her tightly lest she turn wild banshee again.

Not willing to take his word for it, Christine pushed his shirt up and examined the wound for herself. There was a lot of blood and a nasty tear in his side, but it did appear the bullet had not entered him. She looked up into his bemused eyes and threw her arms around him, holding him tight.

So much had happened in such a short time, Erik could barely process it all. The only thing he could think of to say at the moment was, "You're going to get blood on your dress."

Christine half laughed and half cried. "I don't care! You're alive!"

"My God!" Sabine cried as she and Meg, along with Sarah, came running up to the scene. Several policemen arrived as well, two of whom took Raoul from his temporary captors.

"Do we need a doctor?" One of the officers asked.

"Yes!" Christine replied.

"No!" Erik insisted.

"Who's wounded?" Sarah asked, stepping forward and gesturing at the blood on both of them.

"He shot Erik!" Christine pleaded. "He should be seen by a doctor!"

"I assure you all that I'll be alright. The bleeding has nearly stopped," Erik insisted, trying to turn so they couldn't see his side.

"Here," Meg replied, handing over her light sweater. "Use that on it. It's okay," she insisted at Erik's reluctance. "It's old but clean."

Christine took it from Meg and, using the sleeves, tied it to Erik's wound. He winced as she pulled it tight and she gave him a burning look. "Let's call a doctor."

"I promise you, I'll be fine. Let us speak with the police about this matter and then we'll tend to my wound," Erik insisted.

They spoke at length with the officers and explained their side of the story. They took notes and asked many questions, but due to Erik's wound, they didn't keep them unreasonably long. As they wrapped up, Sabine, Meg, and Sarah rejoined them.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Sarah asked solicitously.

"Yes!" Erik sighed.

"You need to get cleaned up and bandaged properly," Sabine interjected.

"We should take him back to the club. We can procure everything we need there and he'll be more comfortable," Sarah insisted.

"I can help, too," Meg insisted.

"How is it I suddenly have four women making my decisions for me?" Erik complained when Christine took him by the hand. "And why are none of them listening?" He groused.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

The group went to the Phillips Club together and requested bandages, lineaments, and alcohol for cleaning Erik up. As it was late in the evening, very few people staying there were aware of what was going on. They got to Erik's suite and Frank himself brought the items requested. In order for everything to be made right between Christine and Erik, Sabine led Frank back downstairs, chatting amicably with him while Sarah and Meg helped get Erik settled.

"I'll go to my suite. It's just down the hall should either of you need anything," Sarah offered. "I suspect he'll make for a terrible patient," she added, leaning conspiratorially towards Christine.

Christine smiled. "I think you might be correct."

Erik glared at both of them as he eased himself into a wingback chair by the unlit fireplace. "I wonder, Miss Giry, if you'd be so kind as to pour me a glass of the cognac sitting there," he asked of Meg, pointing to a tray of bottles.

Meg jumped to do his bidding and poured two glasses, handing one to him and one to Christine. "I think maybe you should have some, too," she said.

"Come, Meg. Let's give them some privacy," Sarah said smiling as she went to the door.

Meg embraced her friend tightly. "I'm so glad you're both going to be okay," she said, meaning so much more than what the phrase held at face value. Ending the hug, Meg turned to Erik and, on impulse, grabbed onto and held his hand tightly, looking into his eyes briefly and smiling before she followed Sarah out of the door.

The sudden quiet of the room was nearly deafening. Christine looked at Erik who was watching her quietly. She turned to the supplies Frank had brought. She gathered them and brought them to a table next to his chair. Standing over her patient, she took a large sip of her cognac and then, setting the glass down, she took a deep breath and came to stand between Erik's legs. She shakily reached out and began to untie Meg's bloodied sweater. He sat forward as she gently pulled it from around him and then wrapped it into a ball to be thrown away. Still unspeaking, Christine swallowed hard and then began unbuttoning his shirt.

Erik blinked in surprise and gasped as her small hands made quick work of the buttons. Before he knew what was happening, she had it completely undone and was pulling it up out of his trousers. Her fingers lightly brushed his bare skin as she pulled at the shirt tails and suddenly it was more than the heat of the cognac spreading quickly from his throat to his stomach and beyond. Finally, she spoke.

"Lean forward," she commanded and he found himself obeying. Her hands went to his shoulders and pushed his shirt off and down his arms before he knew what she was doing. And then he heard her gasp.

She knew the wound would be messy and she had steeled herself for that. What she hadn't been prepared for were the scars. Crisscrossing his chest, going up over his otherwise smooth shoulders, and diving down his abdomen to disappear below the waist of his pants, were the raised remainders of countless examples of inflicted pain.

"Who?" Was all she could manage to whisper.

The heat he had felt cooled immediately in his embarrassment. "Most are from the Shah of Persia, whom I served for a time. A few are reminders of my mother's love." He downed the cognac and stood up, allowing his shirt to slip completely off. He went to the bottle of cognac and refilled his glass, unwilling to see the disgust that must be evident in her eyes.

"As if my face wasn't ugly enough, my body needs must be marred as well." He laughed condescendingly at himself. He was presenting his back to her now: yet another canvas for the Shah's particular artistic endeavors. What had he been thinking in believing that he could be a normal man in Christine's eyes? He didn't dare turn around to see her cowering in fear and revulsion from him yet again.

And then he felt a feather-light touch start at his left shoulder and trace its way down a well-remembered scar. The touch followed it diagonally across the middle of his back to where it suddenly reversed and curved back up and around to disappear where his fresh wound was. Every sense tingled and the hair on his arms stood up at her touch and then, of all things, he felt her arms wrap gently around him as she laid her head against his bare back in an embrace.

They stood like that for several moments until he could stand it no more. He turned around in her embrace and looked into her eyes, searching for the loathing that must be there. Instead, all he saw was compassion.

Christine smiled gently at him and moved to her supplies. He stood there in shock, allowing her to clean his wound and then gently bandage it, wrapping cloths around his waist to hold it in place. Every time her fingertips grazed his flesh, he shivered, unable to do little more than watch her careful ministrations. When she finished, she stepped away to admire her handiwork and picked up her glass of cognac, finishing what was left. He was silently watching her still and she knew she was the one with the power to heal or permanently destroy them both. She held her glass out to him to be refilled and, as he raised an eyebrow and complied, she began to speak.

"Your scars don't make you ugly; they make you human….real. For so long I've felt that you were this untouchable, unreachable being. Then, as my teacher, I was afraid to think of you as human. Seeing you bared like this…." Christine took another sip of the cognac to stoke her courage…. "You're beautiful." She took a step to him and hesitantly reached out to lay her hand on his chest, over his heart.

"Beautiful?" Erik scoffed, but at the same time thrilled to her touch.

"Yes. Your body is like a marble statue from a museum: all so white and cool to the touch….and sculpted." Here, she moved her hand up to his shoulder and then down his arm.

"Christine," he cautioned hoarsely. "You may believe you can see beyond my physical scars, but what about the emotional ones I gave you? I tried to control you, force emotions from you that you couldn't feel. It was wrong of me; I know that now. I am ashamed of what I was. But if you could only know the pain I've felt….," he trailed off, torn between trying to apologize and justify his actions.

"I know that I was the cause of a great deal of that pain and for that, I am truly sorry," Christine interjected. "I was so blind. My father taught me to always see with my heart because it will never lie. Instead, I listened to others and thought they knew what was right, allowing my head to rule my heart. I misunderstood what I felt and learned to regret it. When I finally knew what true love felt like, I was appalled that I had nearly pledged my life to the wrong man. These last few months have been so revealing to me. I've come to realize that you and I are like two strands of melody that belong entwined." At this, Christine stepped closer to him, mere inches away, and touched his face gently.

He couldn't help it. He gasped at her touch and leaned his face further into her palm, rubbing his cheek there. "Oh, Christine," he quietly exhaled.

"I'm still afraid. You make me feel like everything is spinning out of control when I'm so close to you. But I know now that the loss of control is what passion is. I was so naive before. Please….forgive me," Christine apologized.

Erik took the hand that was still cupping his cheek and kissed her palm and then her wrist, his eyes searching hers for any sign of disgust. What he saw instead sent heat scorching through his body.

Christine's eyes widened as his mouth grazed the pulse at her wrist. It was as if that simple gesture sent a searing line from the veins there straight to her stomach and then lower. She gasped at the feeling and saw an answering flame in his eyes. When he gently lowered his head to kiss the inside and then the dimple of the joint of her arm, she felt as though her legs were about to give out. "Erik," she whispered.

Hearing his name spoken by her for the first time in a breathy whisper dissolved the last of his timidity. Standing up straight, his right arm snaked around her waist and pulled her to him. She gasped as their bodies came together and, in that endless moment between that first contact and him lowering his mouth to hers, she experienced a dozen sensations; she felt the strength of his embrace, the hard plane of his bare chest against her, the feel of his scars on her arms, and….on the most primal level….the evidence of his desire for her. His eyes bore into hers as he pulled her body even tighter to his and then all conscious thought fled her mind as his mouth crushed into hers.

His first taste of her nearly overwhelmed him. The softness of her mouth, the scent of lavender around them, and her soft sigh drove him mad. He wrapped her in his arms, striving to mold her into him, their bodies lining up to perfection. And when she opened her mouth and her tongue met his, he felt an overwhelming need take control of his inexperienced body. Instinctively, he brought his hands to her face as he deepened their kiss. Those same hands then traveled down to her shoulders and then cupped her breasts. She tore her mouth away from his and took a strangled gasp of air. Encouraged by the signs of her desire, he slipped one hand into the neckline of her dress, pulling it off her shoulder in order to expose the perfect roundness of flesh there. His questing fingers immediately found the hard nipple and he rubbed his thumb over it as he cupped her bared breast.

At his touch, Christine lost the rest of her inhibitions. She found her hands at his waist and she slid them up and then down his back, reveling in the feel of muscles under his skin. She reached up and pulled his face down to hers for another kiss. Each time his mouth found hers, her world spun and she had to hold on to him for dear life. In the heat of this kiss, Christine allowed her hands to travel down to his waist again and this time, she was the one pulling him against her, allowing instincts to take over as she writhed against his hardness.

It was more than he could bear. He reached behind Christine to try and unbutton her dress. The buttons were maddeningly small and there were so many that he gave up his endeavors and, in one swift movement, ripped the back of her dress completely open. She gasped in surprise but didn't hesitate to step out of it, standing before him clad only in her undergarments. The glow of the gas lamps behind her made the flimsy material sheer as a spiderweb and now it was Erik's turn to gasp as he took in her shape and features. Groaning with desire, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her into his bedroom, laying her on the dark covers and standing back up to stare at the image of her in his bed.

Never taking her eyes from his, Christine slipped entirely out of the rest of her clothing, suddenly feeling brazen and worldly, loving how his eyes devoured every inch of her. He sat on the bed next to her and finally allowed himself to touch the glorious curls of her hair, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand.

"You are more beautiful than any goddess: so perfect!" He whispered.

She smiled at him and reached up to pull him down against her as she kissed him, reveling in the feel of his bare chest against hers: skin against skin.

With shaking hands, Erik took both breasts in his hands and then, in a burst of courage and desire, he bent his head and took one perfect and rosy nipple into his mouth, sucking and teasing it with his tongue.

"Erik!" She gasped again, writhing with pleasure and a growing need for more….much more. He continued his experimentation with her nipples and then, slowly, he began traveling kisses between her breasts and down her stomach. Her breathing came in shorter and shorter gasps as he reached her hips and allowed one hand to slide down the center of her stomach, below her navel, and to her heated core.

She had no time to consider modesty or be embarrassed. Before those emotions could register in her desire-fogged brain, his fingers slipped inside of her and she found herself rocketing to new heights of desire.

The moans emanating from her gave Erik new confidence. He knew what he was looking for, thanks to his extensive if not hurried research a few days ago. But as he played her body like the instrument it was, bringing her closer to ecstasy, he found himself wanting more. Before she could realize what he planned and stop him, he bent between her legs to replace the ministrations of his fingers with his mouth. She cried out in shock, but did not draw away. Instead, she instinctively bent her knees, opening herself wider to him. Her hands fluttered by her sides like butterflies looking for a place to land. They came to rest at first on his shoulders and then on his head, encouraging his ministrations. She felt drawn to an edge: an edge she desperately wanted to jump off, but she couldn't quite reach it. In frustration, she realized the problem: his mask.

"Erik! Your mask….please! Take it off!" She gasped out.

It was dark in the room, but he was still afraid. He recognized the barrier it was proving to be and, not for the first time, he cursed himself. He raised up on his elbow to look at her. She was even more beautiful with the rosy haze of passion on her face: her eyes full of unfulfilled desire. He looked down and saw how swollen she was, how she throbbed with need, and quickly he removed his mask and bent back down to stroke the length of her with his tongue before burrowing his mouth into her again.

This time, she felt the edge rush up to meet her and, realizing she could feel nothing but his face in her most intimate of places, realizing his mouth and tongue….God, his _tongue_ ….were kissing and sucking at the swollen nub of her womanhood, she felt the push that sent shockwaves rocking her body. She cried out in ecstasy so strong it was nearly agonizing. She clutched his shoulders as she arched her hips up, wanting his mouth to never stop.

The rush of having been the one responsible for bringing her to such heights was empowering, but only briefly, as Erik realized he was now maskless in front of her. The room was dark, but not dark enough to suit him. He raised himself up to lay his head on her abdomen, his scars touching her bare skin. He stayed like that for a few moments and then quickly flipped himself to her right. Then, laying on his back next to her with the scarred side of his face farthest from her, he began feeling around for the mask so carelessly discarded in a moment of passion. His search was interrupted, however, when he felt Christine turn on her side to curl her body against his, her head coming to rest on his chest. The intimacy of something so simple nearly stopped his heart and did stop his breathing for a moment. Her naked body pressed against his semi-naked one was nearly more than he could bear. When she started rubbing his chest, playing with the light hair there, he felt the rush of desire return even though he still wanted his mask. Who _was_ this woman next to him? Surely this wasn't the same, timid ballerina turned diva he once knew!

After experiencing such incredible ecstasy for the first time in her life, Christine felt changed: reborn. How could she have any inhibitions left after what Erik had done to her with only his mouth? She'd had no idea a person could experience such an explosion of emotions: one that literally ripped through her body to send waves of pleasure like that. She certainly didn't know that it could happen by just touching and stroking that area. Now, as her mind cleared a bit from the haze of that explosion, she reasoned if she could feel like that from Erik's ministrations to her, shouldn't he be able to as well? She pressed her body against his, loving the feel of his skin on hers, but she was thwarted by the separation his pants created. Feeling completely new and already having an insatiable curiosity, Christine allowed her hand to slide from his chest, to his abdomen, to the waist of his pants where she began to unbutton them. She felt Erik go stock still as she heard him suck in a breath of air. Realizing he was shocked and caught off guard by her actions made her smile. For once, _she_ held the upper hand. She managed to finish unfastening his pants and then, realizing she couldn't do much more with only one hand, she sat up and began to tug at them. He turned his face away when she sat up and she knew he was struggling with being maskless in front of her. But he didn't stop her and actually lifted his hips to help her efforts. When she finally had him completely bared in front of her, she sat back and simply looked.

"Look at me, Erik," was all she said.

His hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides. He felt powerless and totally not in control of this situation: something he hadn't experienced in a very long time. With a hoarse voice he asked, "Look at you? I can't. I can't bear to see your face looking at mine."

Christine felt her heart break, but at the same time, realized she held the power to heal this broken….shattered….piece of him. She trailed her fingers down from his shoulders, across the many scars of his chest, down his sides to his hips, and then, maneuvering herself between his legs, she trailed her hands below his waist and gently caressed the length of him. She heard another gasp escape him but she judged it was a positive sign. She was intrigued at the satiny smoothness of him, the length and breadth of him, the sheer masculinity of the entire picture of him disrobed and exposed to her. She let instinct and curiosity take over as she learned to use her hands, judging her success by his reactions. Remembering the feel of his mouth on her, she laid down between his legs and hesitantly kissed him lightly.

The moan that erupted from deep within him vibrated into Christine's chest. Encouraged, she explored all of him: first bestowing light kisses and then, remembering what he had done to her, using her tongue to travel the length of him. She looked up to gauge his reactions and then took him into her mouth.

Her inquisitive tongue and lips had been inflaming; when she took him completely into her mouth, he felt those flames of desire threaten to completely engulf him. Never, _never_ , had he felt desire such as this. The passion she was showing him was creating within him a need too urgent to deny. He didn't think he wanted to. He was reaching the same heights she had and was suddenly terrified of falling over the edge, losing total control. But he didn't have to worry for long; she stopped and spoke again.

"Erik. Look at me."

He shook his head as much as he dared, not willing to give her even the most fleeting glimpse of his face. He felt her body shift as he stared at the wall, trying not to become weak, but he could feel tears threatening. "I am ashamed of what I am. I can't bear to see your eyes," he whispered brokenly.

She knew. She knew how to heal him and, before he could stop her and before she could lose her courage, she replied, "We have nothing left to suppress." And with those simple words, she straddled him, taking him entirely within her.

Their twin gasps echoed in unison and, completely against his will, Erik turned to look at her in shock. She was astride him, pressed completely down to him, joining them together as one. The image of her like that, hair loose, a sheen of sweat glistening on her brow, eyes closed at first in shock as he entered her but then opened wide with hazy passion….her perfectly round breasts with nipples hard and pointed….he couldn't look away. He saw her eyes focus on him and then, instead of the horror he expected to appear, her eyes softened and her lips curved into a smile that radiated nothing but love.

"You're perfect: so beautiful," she whispered, gently brushing a tear away that had escaped one eye to travel down his deformed cheek.

Her touch there forced two more tears from him and he swallowed hard, not knowing what to say. "Christine," he began, but lost his voice as suddenly she began to rock her hips.

She had expected pain but it hadn't totally come. She had felt more of a shocking pop when she'd lowered herself onto him, but it wasn't really painful. She had no idea what to do next but as her body adjusted to his size, she felt the urge to move. Slowly at first, she simply rocked a bit on him, still watching his reactions. His eyes had gone wide at her movement and what he had been about to say was left unsaid. She felt heady with power, knowing she held him at her will. His hands had reached out to her hips and he lifted her up and then pulled her back down onto him, moaning as he did so. She mimicked the motion again on her own, raising herself even higher before sliding back down onto him and this time, she felt something move within her. She did it again, and then again, developing a rhythm that started pulling her up that precipice again. She watched him carefully, seeing him climb higher and faster than her and so she stopped with her body locked down on his, watching him struggling not to thrust into her. When he had cooled a little, she started gyrating her hips again without raising herself up and down. His hands reached up to her breasts as she sat astride him, rubbing herself against him, seeking that sensitive nub he had taught her about. She felt herself getting closer to that peak and began her rhythm again, but this time she felt his hands clamp onto her hips, refusing to let go, as he met each of her downward slides with an upward thrust of his own. Her speed increased with their mutual need and she felt him shudder within her as he cried out her name. Moments later, she felt the same explosion of sensation as before and found his name on her lips over and over as she fell back to earth.

She stayed astride him until she finally felt her senses return. She looked at him again, his eyes half-closed, and smiled at him.

"Where has this woman been hiding all this time?" He finally spoke.

She raised an eyebrow and laughed. "I'm not entirely certain. She surprised me, too."

He laughed….genuinely laughed and, holding her to him, turned their bodies so that he was now on top of her. "You are quite the vixen."

She reached up and pulled him down for a kiss, reveling in the freedom to capture his lips without the mask in the way. He returned her kiss and deepened it, stroking her hair. When they parted, he smiled at her as he reluctantly pulled away to lay on the bed. She immediately curled next to him, head on his chest once more. He marveled at how perfectly she fit against him, as if she had been made solely for him. He wrapped her in his arms, holding her tight. She sighed contentedly and snuggled in tighter to him. The last thing she thought of as she drifted off to sleep was they had _finally_ begun healing their hearts.


	18. Chapter 18

_Thank you to all who read and reviewed this, keeping me hoping that I'm not a total hack! This wraps up my story, but not my Erik/Christine addiction. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed creating it!_

 **Chapter Eighteen**

The morning sun was just beginning to rise when Christine awoke. Her eyes focused on the window she was turned towards and, at first, she frowned at the unfamiliar setting. Then, the events of the night came rushing back as she remembered Erik's hands and mouth on her body and how he had taken her twice more after their initial lovemaking. Her stomach flipped crazily again and she slowly smiled. She inhaled deeply, loving the scent that was uniquely his. She turned to look at him and discovered he wasn't there. She sat up, holding the sheet to her chest and looked around the room, listening intently towards the door: nothing. Looking around her, she saw her torn and discarded dress on the floor. No use in trying to put that back on. She stood up and went to Erik's closet. There she found several of his shirts and selected one to slip into. It covered her nearly to her knees and she rolled the sleeves up to suit her shorter arms. Clothed, albeit not quite decently, she opened the door of his bedroom and peeked out into the rest of his chambers. There was no sign of him.

"Erik?" She called, beginning to feel uneasy. Where could he have gone? She searched the tables in the room for a note but found nothing. She glanced at the clock on the mantel: 7:00am. She paced the room three times and looked at the clock again: 7:10. She selected a book from the shelves on the wall and sat in his chair, paging through it, but she found she couldn't concentrate. She looked at the clock again: 7:20. Where was he?

She stood up and looked through the papers and things on his desk: no wallet. Had he stepped out for something? She walked to the French doors and opened them onto the balcony and stepped out into the fresh air. She moved to the high wall around the balcony and looked down the street and then back up, but there was no sign of him. She glanced back at the clock: 7:30.

Oh, God. Had he left for good? Had she done something wrong? Had her wanton actions made him reconsider his feelings for her? Maybe he had wanted to make her feel as she had made him feel: feel despair after having love so close. Was this his revenge on her: to leave her broken as she had once left him? Tears began to form in Christine's eyes. Why did she always do the wrong thing as far as their relationship was concerned? She'd driven him away.

"No. Please, no!" She whispered, feeling herself lose control of her tears. What had she done? She….

There was the click of a door and Christine spun around to see Erik entering the apartment carrying a tray of coffee, tea, and pastries. His startled eyes met hers and she gasped out loud. Frowning, he placed the tray down as he shut the door behind him.

"Christine….you…." he began and then grunted as she flung herself at him. Awkwardly, he wrapped his arms around her. "What's wrong? Why are you crying? Are you hurt?" He asked as she sobbed in his arms.

"Oh, Erik! I thought you were gone!" She cried tears of relief, holding onto him as tightly as she could.

"I had thought to be back before you awoke but Frank was late in arriving this morning. I suspect he and Madam Giry might have had an interesting evening. It's why it took me longer to procure some breakfast," he explained, peeling her arms away and holding her out in front of him to look at her. He reached up to wipe her tears away. "Why are you crying?"

She bowed her head in embarrassment. "I thought I'd done something to make you change your mind about me: about us."

Erik laughed. "What?" He reached out and gently tilted her chin up so she was looking at him. "Change my mind about you? My God, Christine! I could no more willingly stop breathing! I thought perhaps _you_ would have second thoughts about everything after last night: after the liberties I took with you." Now it was his turn to bow his head in embarrassment.

As answer, Christine stepped to him and pressed her mouth to his, wrapping her arms around him, fitting her body against his. When she came up for air, she saw him raise his eyebrow and once again he held her at arm's length.

"You're wearing my shirt."

"I'm sorry! I didn't know what else to wear. My dress is ruined…." Christine started by way of explanation and then stopped when she saw the smile on Erik's face.

"Don't apologize. I like how you look in my clothes," he marveled, allowing his hands to drop to her waist and slip up under the shirt she was wearing.

She gasped as his cold hands found bare hips and then buttocks and then he pulled her to him for another kiss. He moaned as she dropped her right hand below his waist and forced himself to step back as he broke the kiss.

"Vixen!" He admonished.

"Tease!" She returned.

He laughed and led her to the table where breakfast awaited. He poured her coffee and himself tea and watched as she dug into the chocolate croissant in front of her. She felt his eyes on her and looked up at his amused face.

"Why are you smiling like that?" She asked.

"I must confess that I have always dreamed of a scene like this: one so ordinary to most. I've always wanted to see you with your guard down and simply being you. This scene far exceeds any of my expectations. Your hair is mussed, you're scantily clad in one of my shirts, you're hungrily eating without a napkin daintily set upon your lap, and all of this makes you even more beautiful to me," he replied, eyes full of suppressed mirth, but also adoration.

Christine laughed. "You have me at a disadvantage, Sir! After such a night as last night, you should not look as perfectly immaculate as you do now! I feel as though, when I leave here, everyone will know what we've done. I feel like I'm marked now." She laughed again. "I suppose there is no question of what transpired between us since I didn't return home. Meg will be starved for information."

Erik winced. "I did not mean to allow things to get quite so out of hand. You seemed no longer scared of me and I lost my shyness as well. I never felt like that: as though all our feelings were laid completely bare. I didn't intend to take your maidenhood like that…." He trailed off uncomfortably.

Christine laughed again and Erik looked up at her in confusion. "If I remember correctly, you didn't take anything. I believe I was the one who 'took'."

Erik searched her eyes for regret and instead found happiness. He shook his head in disbelief. "I suppose you're right."

There was a light knock at the door and Christine quickly stood up. She didn't want to be so blatantly obvious: especially dressed as she was. She looked at Erik who whispered, "Go to the balcony," and did so immediately. She tucked herself on a small wrought iron chair just out of sight and waited. She couldn't hear anything and didn't want to peek around the corner for fear of being seen, but she didn't have to wait long; Erik appeared by her side with her coffee and came to lean against the stone wall around the balcony.

"That was Sarah checking on my wound. Well….that, and I'm sure on 'us'. She didn't ask but she saw the two settings for breakfast."

Christine sighed. "I hope she doesn't think even less of me now."

Erik smiled. "On the contrary, she brought one of her dresses over so that you'd be able to leave with dignity."

"She's a good person," Christine remarked.

"Yes, she is. She's the reason I have spent so much time being 'normal'. She convinced me that in New York, most people don't care about my mask: especially since I give so generously to the opera. She's also the reason I didn't give up on my dream of having you. She coached me and had me doing things I would never have done. But it worked."

Christine raised an eyebrow. "Coached you? Is that how you knew what to do to me last night?"

"No! Not like that! She….you're laughing at me," Erik realized.

Christine tried to compose her face and appear serious, but to no avail. "Yes, I'm teasing you." She giggled again. "But your reaction was priceless."

Erik huffed in mock annoyance. "I never realized you were quite such a joker."

"That's your fault. You've brought out an entirely different side of me: so many facets I never realized I possessed. I feel so alive! It's as if I've been seeing life as gray and depressing and suddenly the sun has come out and everything is bright and colorful. And I feel so free." Here, Christine stood up and went to him. She took both of his hands in hers and looked him straight in the eye. "Erik, I love you. I've always loved you. I was just stupid and immature and I didn't understand everything I was feeling. I've caused you so much pain….I hope you can learn to forgive me. I promise I will spend the rest of my life showing you how much I love you."

Erik took a ragged breath at her words. "All the dark silent years of my life are put right by you. You are so much more than I am worthy of. A better man would free you to be with another more deserving of your love. But I am not a better man and I will never let you go." He pulled her to him in a tight embrace and with his face buried in her hair he whispered, "My Christine, how I love you!"

She laughed with tears in her eyes. To finally say those words and have them repeated back….She pulled back in order to kiss him and she tasted both their tears as mouth pressed against mouth. He pulled her body tight to his as he continued kissing her, lips parted and tongues colliding. The thin material of his shirt she wore did little to hide the hardened peaks of her breasts and he pulled the bottom of the shirt up to her waist, pressing himself against her bared body, using both of his hands on her buttocks to grind into her harder. And then he felt her hands fumbling at his pants and, before he realized what was happening, he was bared to her as well.

"Please," was all she could say and he lifted her up easily, pressing her against the wall with a need too urgent to deny. Moments after he finished his release, she whimpered his name in her release, trying to stay quiet. Struggling to catch their breaths, he eventually allowed her to slide down to stand and he placed his hands on the wall to either side of her, pressing his forehead to hers after kissing her brow.

"What have you done to me?" He whispered.

She smiled in return. "I could ask the same of you."

He held her to him for a few moments more and then unwillingly let her go. "You will be late for rehearsals if I keep you here any longer."

Christine sighed in regret. "You're right. But I don't want to leave."

He smiled as he straightened himself up, tucking his shirt back in. "I'll be there, you know that. I will bring you lunch."

She raised her eyebrows. "Can we skip lunch in favor of dessert?"

His eyes widened, still unused to this sexual banter, but enjoying it nonetheless. "I'm sure that can be arranged. Your friends may be scandalized if they see us slipping away, though."

Christine sighed. "I'm sure they'll be scandalized after the entire scene with Raoul. It's going to be awkward facing them and trying to explain everything."

"Wait here," Erik commanded, disappearing into his chambers for a moment. When he returned, he walked to her and took her hands in his. "I may have something for you to make them forget all about that scene last night."

She cocked her head in curiosity." What?"

"Ever since the first moment I laid eyes on you, I've loved you. I've spent my entire life existing, but not living. You've shown me the difference. When I'm with you, hear you sing….I feel more alive than I have ever before." Here, he knelt down in front of her. "Fulfill us; make us whole. Seal our bond forever more and marry me, Christine." He reached into his pocket and retrieved a box that he opened, revealing a stunning diamond and emerald ring.

Christine's eyes widened and she gasped at the sight of him kneeling before her. With shaking hands, she took the proffered ring and slipped in onto her finger, holding her hand out in front of her to admire it. Then she dropped onto her knees in front of him, tears in her eyes. "You still want me after everything I've done?"

"More than I could ever explain," he replied quietly.

"Erik!" She cried, hugging him and then kissing him joyously.

He pulled away, frowning. "Is that a yes?"

She laughed again. "Yes! Yes, I will marry you! Heart to heart and soul to soul, you are mine and I am yours: forever!"

Erik smiled and through tears of happiness, he took her face in his hands and brought their mouths together. The story he had thought ended months ago was just about to begin.


End file.
